


out of sight

by kiitemiru



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dreamsharing, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pre-Canon, Slow Burn, kinda???, more angst now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-13
Updated: 2018-11-25
Packaged: 2019-08-01 11:15:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 23,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16283567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiitemiru/pseuds/kiitemiru
Summary: In his dreams, Yuuri skates with his soulmate. It's been that way ever since he was younger, nine years old and just a little bit jealous of all his classmates who had their soul bonds already. Sometimes he watches his soulmate on the ice and other times they skate together. It's wonderful, except when he wakes up, the memory of his dream slips away from him like a bar of soap.Sometimes he wonders if he'll ever remember.





	1. hurts to forget

**Author's Note:**

> Just a warning: this fic is unfinished! I'm unsure if I'll ever complete it, or at least the ending. If you'd like to click away now, feel free to do so, or check out the end notes for more info ♡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What's your name?” he asks.  
> He’s asked this question so many times. He’s forgotten the answer so many times.

Yuuri holds the final position of his free skate for a grand total of approximately two seconds before he drops like a stone onto the ice. His sharp staccato breaths set his lungs on fire as he inhales as much oxygen as he possibly can. That was undoubtedly the most exhausting run-through he’s done so far. His entire body is screaming.

Celestino is saying something, but the pounding of Yuuri’s heart in his ears drowns out his words and distorts them. He keeps his forehead pressed against the surface of the ice for a moment, letting the coldness ground him and focus his thoughts again. He gets to his feet and skates to the side, assuring his coach he’s okay. Phichit stops recording and practically squeals as he hands Yuuri’s water bottle to him. 

“Yuuri! That was the best one yet!” he exclaims, waving his arms around in excitement and being dangerously close to flinging his phone across the rink. “Watch out, Viktor Nikiforov!”

Yuuri gulps down half the bottle like he’s almost dying of thirst before replying with an amused, “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves! This is my first senior Grand Prix after all. Who knows, maybe I won’t even qualify…”

Phichit gives him a pointed look. “We both know that’s crap, Yuuri. Ciao Ciao, back me up!”

“Phichit’s right,” Celestino says with a rather proud smile on his face. “If you can skate like you just did in the Grand Prix, you might just be looking at a gold medal.”

Yuuri would laugh and brush it off as an impossibility, but it’s no secret Celestino has worked with some of the best skaters in the sport in the past. Words like those coming from him are not to be taken lightly. No pressure at all…

He slips on his skate guards and deposits himself unceremoniously on the nearest bench. He drains the last of his water and squeezes his eyes shut, feeling the ache in all his muscles. His heartbeat is still pulsing in every crevice of his body and his head is pounding. The toll of the relentless hours of practice these last few weeks is catching up with him.

Yuuri unlaces his skates and wriggles his toes. He’ll have to re-bandage his feet later, he thinks absently. He unrolls a mat and Phichit helps him do some cool down stretches for a while, babbling on about how amazing he was during the last run through. He tries to ignore the blush spreading on his face at all the praise being piled upon him. He’s about to put his skates back on and get onto the ice, but Celestino puts a hand on his shoulder and gives him a smile.

“Go home and rest, Yuuri,” his coach says and Yuuri blinks. He reaches for his phone and checks the time. It’s far too early to go home.

“But practice isn’t over for another hour…” he replies, furrowing his brow in confusion. Celestino’s smile only grows wider.

“You’re exhausted, even if you’re trying not to show it. Now shoo, or I’m sure Phichit will make you go home himself.

There’s a distant shout of “Damn right I will! Go home!” from the other end of the rink where Phichit is doing spins and Yuuri has to stifle a laugh with his hand. He was hoping to make as much use of his rink time as possible and practice his jumps, but he’s got to concede defeat today.

“Okay… see you tomorrow, Coach.” 

More out of habit than anything, Yuuri runs the rest of the way back to the dorms. His bag bounces against his back and his skates are bumping against each other every other step. He would lament at how he just basically got kicked out of practice, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to resting, especially if it means sleeping. He does love his sleep, and it’s no surprise why.

In his dreams, Yuuri skates with his soulmate. It's been that way ever since he was younger, nine years old and just a little bit jealous of all his classmates who had their soul bonds already. Sometimes he watches his soulmate on the ice and other times they skate together. It's wonderful, except when he wakes up, the memory of his dream slips away from him like a bar of soap. If he's lucky, he'll catch a few vague memories before they can disappear completely.

Yuuri often wonders how unique his soul bond is. There are many different ways of identifying soulmates, too many to count because there are new soul bonds popping up all the time. He’s seen his fair share of soul bonds over the years, though he’s never met anyone else who shares dreams with their soulmate.

It wasn’t always so nice though. When he was younger, some kids used to tease him about not having a visible soul bond and the meaner ones would even say he didn’t have a soulmate at all. There was a point in time when Yuuri was jealous of all the people who had physical soul bonds, but not once did he wish that his was different. Sharing dreams is rare and it’s the most special thing in Yuuri’s life. He wouldn’t trade it for any other soul bond in the world.

That’s what makes soul bonds so special, Yuuri thinks. Everyone’s soul bond is unique and different and so utterly beautiful.

In grade school, a girl named Kiyoko had a beautiful dragon mark spanning across her back that would match the one her soulmate had. The only visible part was the tail, which snaked around her left arm like a coil. She was very shy about it and often wore long-sleeved shirts and jackets to hide it, even though everyone thought she had the coolest soul mark.

In high school, a boy named Daichi could talk to his soulmate by writing on his skin. Yuuri had watched once in fascination as pen ink wrote its way across Daichi’s arm in reply to a greeting he'd written. He often got in trouble at school for not paying attention in class and writing to his soulmate instead.

Last year, Yuuri met Phichit, who’s got a name written on his lower back, just like how Yuuko and Takeshi have got each other's names printed somewhere on their skin. He's only seen it a couple of times, the first when he accidentally walked in on Phichit changing and the other time when Phichit showed it to him himself. It's something in Korean and he’d said it formed slowly, one letter every year on a particular date.

Red strings, tattoos of the first words soulmates will say to each other, countdown timers, heterochromia, the list goes on and on. Yuuri once heard of a pair of soulmates who saw the world in black and white until they met each other. A recent survey revealed there are over fifty ways of identifying soulmates, and the number keeps on rising.

Yuuri is 22 now and he’s been sharing dreams with his soulmate for roughly thirteen years. The time they spend together is enough to make him wish he'd never wake up sometimes, as silly as he knows it is. He’s grateful, of course, to be blessed with such a wonderfully unique soul bond, but he wishes he could remember, just once.

Lost in his head, Yuuri doesn’t realise that his legs have taken him home until the front door of the dorm room he shares with Phichit greets him. He sticks the key in the lock and almost lets out a quiet ‘tadaima’. Even after so many years in Detroit, he still hasn’t shaken the old habit of announcing his arrival when he gets home. Every time he almost says it, he’s reminded of Japan and his family and Vicchan. A sudden pang of homesickness washes over his heart.

Yuuri takes a quick shower to wash off the sticky feeling of a hard practice. The warm water is heaven against his aching body and he would stay under the spray for longer if he could, but there are water bills to pay.

He’s got a shift at the little izakaya near campus tonight, so he can’t sleep for as long as he’d like to. Yuuri sets an alarm to make sure he doesn’t oversleep, hoping it won’t wake him up in the middle of a dream with his soulmate. The owners of the izakaya are extremely nice, and they remind him just a little bit of his own parents. If that wasn’t enough to make him homesick, their katsudon is almost as good as his okaa-san’s. Yuuri can keep up his tradition of eating katsudon when he has a victory, but god, he misses Hasetsu.

He bundles himself up in the covers and his eyes slip shut. Yuuri starts drifting away from consciousness the moment his head hits the pillow. Phichit won't be home until later, so he desperately prays that he won't be woken up when he returns. His muscles relax and the dull ache melts into a more pleasant feeling. His breathing evens out and he yawns softly as his eyelids begin to droop.

When he eventually lets go of the waking world and delves into dreaming, Yuuri’s dream-self slowly materialises first before anything else. He's wearing his usual practice clothes and his favourite pair of skates, identical to their real-world counterparts down to the boot brand and the blade model. For a moment, he hangs in nothingness before his surroundings begin to materialise around him. The ice solidifies under his feet, the blue of the sky spreads out like a watercolour painting above his head, the earthy scent of evergreen trees permeates the air. An outdoor rink today, it seems.

While waiting for the soul bond to link his dream to his soulmate’s, Yuuri skates some compulsory figures on the rink. After years of practicing them, he can skate these figures in his sleep, quite literally. Suddenly, there’s a hand in his and he casts his gaze down to see his soulmate’s dream-self taking shape. Yuuri looks back up and is met with piercing blue eyes that steal the breath from his lungs.

He knows he's seen those eyes hundreds of times before, but he can't help forgetting what his soulmate looks like when he wakes. It frustrates him to no end. His soulmate smiles at him, a wide smile shaped like a heart which is vaguely familiar from Yuuri's shards of recollection of past dreams.

“It's been a while since our last dream,” his soulmate says, still smiling softly and holding his hand. Yuuri’s heart swells at the sound of his smooth voice for the nth time. It's always such a shame to forget, but this way, Yuuri finds new ways to fall in love all over again every time.

“It has,” he hums in agreement. He reaches up to brush a stray silver hair away from the other man’s face and digs up a sliver of a memory from years ago of when his soulmate had long hair. He was so disappointed one night when they dreamed together to discover that his soulmate’s hair had been cut short, but the style still suited him very much. Oh, how Yuuri had loved the sight of his soulmate’s long hair. It’s part of the small collections of memories he’s been able to keep. 

In the morning, Yuuri will probably forget all about the colour of his hair and the silky feel of it between his fingers, so he lets himself indulge. His soulmate laughs lightly as Yuuri plays with his hair. He takes Yuuri's other hand and laces their fingers together. “Come on, let's skate!” he says cheerfully, tugging at Yuuri's hands and pulling him forward a little on the ice.

Yuuri smiles and the two of them skate a couple laps of the rink hand-in-hand to warm up before they take up their starting positions. It’s as if they've been skating this routine together for all their lives. Perhaps they have, in their dreams. Perhaps they just can't remember, not when the memories of their times together are locked away deep in their minds.

Soft music fills the air between them, music which only exists in their imaginations and in the way their bodies move across the ice. In perfect synchronisation, they dance on the ice in time with the wonderful music no one else can hear. They skate side by side for a while, doing spirals and combination spins until they get dizzy.

The sweet moment is shattered when they separate. The music rises in volume and the change in the routine is as abrupt as a jagged knife cut. The whimsical and playful atmosphere is replaced by a fast paced one of urgency. His soulmate chases after him around the rink, longing and desperation etched in every curve of his body, every turn of his blades. They reach out for each other as the ever-growing gap widens.

They slow down enough to allow the gap to reduce and they’re close enough to touch each other. They skate in a circle around each other, his soulmate tenderly touching his face for the briefest moment as the music picks up again. An invisible force pushes them apart and now it's Yuuri's turn to chase after him.

The story paints itself in Yuuri's head word by word as he skates after his soulmate. Two lovers, separated by a cruel trick of fate, a story he somehow knows is supposed to end in heartbreak.

Yuuri wants to change it. It doesn't seem right, to end in tragedy instead of having a happy ever after. Isn’t that how it’s supposed to go? He increases his speed, desperation turning his crossovers messy in his haste to catch up to his soulmate. They launch into a frenzied step sequence, his soulmate adapting to the change in the routine effortlessly.

They both reach out and link hands, spinning in lazy circles as if they’re two celestial bodies orbiting each other. The imaginary music swells as they gradually stop spinning and hold each other in a tight embrace.

Two lovers, separated by a cruel trick of fate, a story that ends in reunion instead of devastation.

They stand there on the ice in the same position, even when their music fades away. Yuuri's heart is beating fast and he's panting slightly from exertion. How odd. He's never felt tired in their dreams before.

“That was incredible,” his soulmate breathes in an awed voice. His arms are still wrapped tight around Yuuri. Yuuri presses his ear to his soulmate’s chest and listens to his heartbeat. The sound of it makes him sigh and hug his soulmate just a little tighter. Suddenly, their dance becomes more than just a little routine they skate together in their dreams. For a single blissful moment, it's almost like it's real and it's happening and he won’t wake up and forget ever again-

 _I think I love you_ , Yuuri wants to say, but the words tumble over each other in his throat. “What's your name?” he asks instead as he looks up into those bright blue eyes. He’s asked this question so many times. He’s forgotten the answer so many times.

“Viktor,” his soulmate responds softly. Recognition swims in Yuuri’s mind, like a little koi fish in a pond that always darts away as soon as he dips his hand in the water. “And you?”

“Yuuri.”

Viktor is warm, so very warm. Yuuri would like nothing more than to stay in his arms forever, to be with him like this in the real world. He wonders what Viktor remembers of him. He wonders if Viktor feels the same frustration he does when he wakes up and forgets.

Yuuri prays, he prays so desperately he’ll be allowed to remember this time. Tonight was different. He knows it deep in his heart. Tonight felt as real as a dream can possibly get. Yuuri prays _so_ desperately he won’t forget the magical time they had tonight.

“It's almost time for you to go, isn’t it? I can feel it,” Viktor murmurs forlornly. Yuuri hugs him tighter as if it could anchor him here for just a little more.

“I don’t want to go. I wish I could stay here with you fore- for longer.” he mumbles, his voice muffled by the material of Viktor’s shirt. He catches himself before ‘forever’ slips past his lips.

“Oh, _dorogoy moy_ , me too. If I was able to, I’d never leave you, my Yuuri.”

Yuuri tries to ignore the way his heart aches when Viktor says his name. He closes his eyes and wills himself not to forget. Coming back is always the hardest part. It means leaving his soulmate until their next dream. It means leaving their little paradise and coming back to all the troubles in life he has to face when he wakes up.

“Life can be so cruel, letting us have this wonderful time together, only to make us forget…” Viktor says with a voice full of wistfulness, fading with every word. Yuuri tightens his grip even more, fisting his hands in the back of Viktor’s shirt. His eyes are starting to sting with unshed tears.

“Please, please, I don’t want to forget…” he whispers, over and over like a prayer. Viktor fades away like mist in his arms and Yuuri wants to start sobbing at the loss of his warmth. The ice melts to nothing under his feet, the colour bleeds out of the sky, the trees vanish around him and Yuuri hangs in the space between sleep and consciousness again. He keeps his eyes shut tight as he begins to fade away too, his lips shaping Viktor’s name in an effort to remember.

When Yuuri opens his eyes, it's six in the evening and he’s back in his bed. The sunset illuminates his room with an orangey hue, basking him in a soft glow. He rolls over to block it out. Desperately, Yuuri searches through his mind for the memories of his dream, but he’s too late. It’s like watching the back of a car drive down the road and out of sight.

He doesn't remember a thing about the colour of his soulmate’s eyes, or the colour of their hair, or the sound of their voice, or even their name. Overcome with sudden sorrow, tears fill his eyes and he weeps. It’s an immeasurable sadness, making him feel almost like a part of him is missing. So he weeps for that missing part of him, and he weeps for the loss of the time they spent together.

In his mind, a sliver of memory waves like a ribbon caught in a gentle breeze and before it can slip away, Yuuri grabs it. He remembers being held in a warm embrace and a faraway voice saying unfamiliar words which made warmth bloom in his chest.

_Dorogoy moy._

Yuuri starts crying even harder.

Phichit comes back from practice a couple of minutes later and finds him crying softly. Wordlessly, he sits down on the bed next to him. “You forgot again?” he asks quietly, pulling Yuuri into a comforting hug. It’s not the first time this has happened. Yuuri nods back miserably. He rests his head against Phichit’s shoulder and his friend lets his tears leave saltwater stains on his shirt.

“It was different this time, wasn’t it?”

Yuuri nods again.

“Just once,” he chokes out. “I wanted to remember this one dream.”

He allows himself a good five minutes of moping before he pulls himself together enough to clean up for his shift at the izakaya. Phichit has a study group tonight, so he goes off to that after Yuuri assures him he’s feeling alright. There’s some of his favourite tea waiting in the kitchen for him, courtesy of his best friend.

For the rest of the night, Yuuri can’t stop thinking about those two words which floated back to him. _Dorogoy moy_. It’s clearly foreign, but he’s got no clue where to start guessing. He nearly drops a tray full of glasses at the izakaya because he was off with his head in the clouds.

“Katsuki-kun, is something troubling you?” Michimiya-san, one of the owners of the izakaya, asks when Yuuri starts polishing the same glass for the fifth time. She’s a sweet lady and her cheery disposition reminds him very much of his okaa-san. That and she also likes to tell Yuuri he really should eat more, trying to tempt him with katsudon when she knows it’s off-season.

“Hmm? Oh, it’s nothing, Michimiya-san,” he replies, waving it off with an attempt at an air of nonchalance. He’d rather not admit that he was daydreaming about his soulmate. “Practice was tough today. I guess I’m a bit tired.”

“Ah, that’s right, you have a big competition coming up soon, yes?”

‘Big competition’ sure is one way to describe the Grand Prix, Yuuri thinks, rubbing the back of his neck with a grin. Michimiya-san tells him she and her husband will be supporting him, and he gives her his thanks very sincerely.

Later that night, Yuuri falls asleep knowing he won’t dream again with his soulmate again thanks to time zones, but he thinks of them all the same. He thinks of long hair cut short and heart-shaped smiles and two words which have been echoing in his head for hours.

 _Dorogoy moy._  

Yuuri hopes with all of his heart, with every cell in his body, that he’ll remember someday.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wowee it's been a hot minute since i posted something viktuuri  
> As stated at the beginning, it's likely I won't finish this fic. I started writing this in April 2017 but at a certain point, I stopped, and it was also around then that I began losing my drive for writing. I have many unfinished works which I might post someday, too.  
>   
> YOI will always be special to me and I didn't want to leave my writing in a folder I haven't touched for months, collecting virtual dust.


	2. waited a long time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri is nine and he doesn't have a soulmate.

Yuuri lands on the ground with a thud and a soft cry of pain. The boys crowd around him, laughing and sneering. He looks around the yard for a teacher, but there doesn’t seem to be one around. All the other kids are too scared of Hayato-kun and his friends to dare interfere. Yuuri’s on his own… again.

It’s the second time this week. Yuuri wishes that Mari was here to scare them off with her piercings and super scary glares.

“You gonna start crying again like Tuesday?” Hayato-kun jeers and his friends laugh cruelly. To his utter embarrassment, warm, salty tears are beginning to well up in his eyes. He pushes himself up off the ground and stands up, albeit on shaky legs.

“Just leave me alone,” he says in the strongest voice he’s able to muster. He gives them the fiercest glare he possibly can, but it only amuses his bullies. The boys practically howl with laughter and Hayato-kun gets right up in his face, staring Yuuri down. He stands his ground and wills himself not to falter as he stares back. Hayato-kun’s eyes narrow in contempt.

“You’re just a little weakling, Katsuki,” he spits, shoving him hard again by the shoulders. He falls back onto the ground with a wince. Hayato-kun’s face contorts into an ugly sneer. “Who would want such a weakling like you to be their soulmate?”

The words hurt far more than any push or shove he could ever receive. Each syllable is a sharpened knife, burrowing into Yuuri’s heart and making it ache terribly. At Yuuri’s hurt expression, the boys cackle like crows and high five each other. The sound echoes like gunshots through the silent air. Everyone is watching the scene from a distance, utterly quiet. Hayato-kun smirks down at Yuuri with malice in his eyes.

“Oh wait, I forgot,” he pauses, presumably for dramatic effect. He leans down over Yuuri with a disgusting sneer. “ _You don’t even have a soulmate._ ”

With that, the boys walk off laughing madly, leaving Yuuri sitting on the ground with tears on his face. He stares at the black crow’s feather decorating the back of Hayato-kun’s right calf and he feels a sudden rush of bitterness. How is it fair that someone like Hayato Shinji can have a soulmate but Yuuri can’t?

Everyone slowly goes back to what they were doing. They all feel sorry for Katsuki Yuuri who doesn’t have a soul bond and always gets picked on by the bullies. They watch him sitting in the middle of the yard and turn their backs because they feel uncomfortable.

Yuuri feels a hand on his shoulder and he looks up at whoever it is. To his surprise, it’s Arakawa Kiyoko, the girl everyone talks about because of her beautiful soul mark. He watches with wide eyes as she sits down next to him, her hand still on his shoulder.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly. She’s always been quiet and shy, especially about her soul mark. Even today, she’s wearing a blue jacket to hide the dragon’s tail snaking down her left arm. Yuuri nods his head but his glum sniffles betray him.

“They shouldn’t be so mean to you, Katsuki-kun,” Arakawa continues in her soft voice. Yuuri’s tears have stopped and he’s fiddling with blades of grass now. He sighs tiredly in response.

“What’s it like having a soulmate?” he asks suddenly. When the words leave his mouth, he blushes furiously and clamps his hands over his mouth. “I’m sorry! That’s a stupid question, you don’t have to answer it- eh?”

Arakawa unzips her jacket, taking it off and holding out her left arm towards Yuuri. He gapes at the scaled dragon tail running across her pale skin, painted in vibrant colours. Everyone else in the yard gapes as well. Arakawa has never shown anyone her soul mark on purpose before.

Hayato-kun had once joked that it made her look like a yakuza, but she’d given him a single withering glance that would probably make Yuuri drop dead if it was directed at him. Hayato-kun hasn’t made any remarks since. Yuuri wishes he could give his bullies a look and they’d stop, but he has a feeling that if he tried, he’d get laughed at.

“The rest of it is a whole dragon on my back.”

“It’s so pretty,” Yuuri breathes. “Why do you cover it up all the time?”

Arakawa blushes lightly and opens her mouth to say something, but Yuuri keeps talking.

“I bet the rest of it is really beautiful as well! It’s so cool! If I had a soul mark like-” he cuts himself off abruptly after realising what he just said. He drops his shoulders and finishes his sentence quietly. “If I _had_ a soul mark… and it was as amazing as yours, I’d want to show it to everyone.”

Arakawa’s face is a rather pretty shade of pink at this point, like the small potted flowers Yuuri’s kaa-san likes to keep in the onsen’s lobby for decoration. She seems lost for words. Suddenly, she stands up, pats Yuuri on the back and without another word, she runs off. Yuuri stares after her in surprise, eyes following her blue jacket trailing behind her.

“Did I say something wrong?” he mutters to himself in confusion. Someone else sits down next to him as Yuuri watches Arakawa vanish around a corner. Nishigori Takeshi coughs awkwardly and clears his throat a few time before speaking.

Yuuri’s a little bit baffled as to why he’s here. He and Nishigori aren’t the best of friends, mostly because of the other boy’s initial dislike of him. After the teasing and the weight jokes started, the dislike soon became mutual.

To Yuuri’s immense dismay, Nishigori is Yuuko’s soulmate. It’s a shame, because Toyomura Yuuko is very pretty and very nice and honestly, Yuuri thinks she should have someone better as her soulmate. Like him, for example, but he wouldn’t dare say it out loud.

Until recently, Nishigori used to call Yuuri fat and bump into him on purpose while they skated, which upset him a lot, but Yuuko made him stop. Yuuri suspects she’d threatened to reject him as her soulmate when she told him off because he turned an alarming shade of red, then very pale like some kind of weird, ten-year-old boy shaped traffic light, and nodded stiffly at her. The two of them struck up a sort of grudging friendship and they all often skate together after school at Ice Castle. Nishigori is being just a bit nicer to him lately, but Yuuri thinks it’s only because Yuuko is telling him to. He appreciates the effort anyway.

But here he is now, sitting next to Yuuri and talking to him of his own accord. Yuuri wonders what he has to say. He starts gruffly, “I heard about what happened just now… I’m… sorry.”

Yuuri blinks several times in disbelief. Are his ears playing tricks on him? Did he hear that right? “You’re sorry?”

Nishigori scowls slightly. “Yes, I’m sorry! For being a jerk to you before…”

“Um… that’s okay?”

“Why does it sound like a question?” Nishigori demands.

“I don’t know!” Yuuri exclaims back.

The two boys pause for a moment before dissolving into laughter. Today is _so_ weird, Yuuri thinks. First, Arakawa actually talked to him and showed him her soul mark, and now he’s laughing with Nishigori. _Nishigori!_ Laughing with him! How incredible!

Once their laughter dies down, Nishigori ruffles his hair in an almost brotherly gesture much like how Mari does sometimes. “If that kid ever decides to bother you again, tell me and I’ll take care of him for you.”

“Uh, thanks, but I think my nee-chan’s got it covered. She said she’ll come scare them off with her piercings, and her glares are pretty scary too…”

They share another laugh and Nishigori tells him he thinks Yuuri’s nee-chan is pretty cool. Yuuri thinks this is the friendliest they’ve ever been with each other. He spots Yuuko’s name written in kanji across the side of the other boy’s neck like a tattoo. He thinks of Nishigori’s name written in kanji on Yuuko’s upper arm.

He’s changed his mind. Nishigori Takeshi might just be worthy of being Yuuko’s soulmate after all.

~

Yuuri’s lying in his bed thinking miserably about what Hayato-kun and his friends said to him at school today. His soulmate (or lack of one, as it seems) is a highly touchy subject for him, topped only by his tendency to gain weight easily, shown by the puppy fat still clinging to his round cheeks. Despite Arakawa and Nishigori’s kind words afterwards, Hayato-kun’s insults keep pestering him, and they hurt ten times as much now that he dwells on them.

Hayato-kun only found out after listening in on him talking to Yuuko about it, and he and those friends of his haven’t stopped teasing him since. In a way, Yuuri can understand why they pick on him. He’s always been a bit chubby and shy and kind of weird. They probably think he’s girly because he does ice skating and he dances, and as the cherry on top of this metaphorical dumpster fire of a sundae, he’s the only one in the whole class who doesn’t have a soul bond. But it doesn’t mean he automatically doesn’t have a soulmate, right? 

When he asked his parents about this during dinner, they told him that maybe his soulmate hasn’t been born yet. Yuuri had scrunched up his face at the idea. What if his soulmate isn’t born until he’s 35 or something? With every day that passes with no indication of a soul bond, Yuuri’s hopes slowly fade.

Maybe Hayato-kun and his friends are right. Maybe he actually doesn’t have a soulmate.

The thought makes his heart hurt a lot, and he doesn’t like it. His eyes start stinging and his cheeks heat up, tell-tale signs of imminent crying. He rubs the tears away angrily in frustration. This is why Hayato-kun and his friends don’t like him. Because he’s such a crybaby, such a sensitive, easily upset crybaby.

Yuuri forces himself to calm down and even out his breathing. He blinks the tears back and wipes his eyes on his sleeve furiously. He climbs out of bed and goes downstairs and get some water, keeping his footsteps light to avoid disturbing anyone. To his surprise, his sister is downstairs cleaning up in the kitchen.

“Nee-chan?” he says quietly, barely above a whisper. Mari pauses in her wiping down of the countertops and looks over in his direction. She puts the cloth down and comes over to ruffle his hair, making him pout a little.

“You couldn’t sleep either, huh, little brother?” she says, leaning on the counter. Yuuri nods his head. Mari sighs and wanders over to the cabinet. “I’ll make some tea.”

Yuuri clambers up onto a bar stool, kicking his legs in the air as Mari puts the water on to boil. He can’t wait until he gets tall enough for his feet to actually touch the floor when he sits on the high bar stools. He rests his elbows on the shiny wood surface and puts his face in his hands.

“Yuuri, have you been crying?” Mari frowns, coming over to tip his chin up to look at his ever so slightly puffy eyes and pink nose. His cheeks flush with colour and he looks to the side to avoid her gaze.

“N-No!” he exclaims, but his stutter gives him away. Sighing, he stares at his reflection on the bar and pokes his cheek. Too chubby. He’s always had chubby cheeks. Hayato-kun says it makes him look like a baby. Anger flares in his stomach briefly and he pinches his cheek so hard it hurts, leaving a pink spot.

Yuuri hates Hayato-kun, and he hates his stupid chubby cheeks.

Mari sets a cup of tea in front of him and the hot steam puffs up against his face. He inhales deeply and a calming sensation washes over him. The genmaicha tea smells like home, warm and comforting. Without thinking, he takes a sip and immediately recoils at the heat. He’s burned his tongue a bit.

Mari is much more careful and blows on her tea to cool it slightly before she drinks. Her new piercing, the fourth one, glints in the low light against the shell of her ear. Yuuri wonders just how she’d convinced their parents to let her get it this time. Yuuri wonders just how she’d been brave enough to get a fourth piercing. He wonders if he’d ever be brave enough to get just one piercing in the future.

“What happened today, Yuuri?” she asks softly, sitting down on the stool next to him. Yuuri kicks his legs again and stares into the depths of his tea cup. It’s earthy and slightly nutty, his favourite kind of tea. He watches the steam still rising from his cup, taking note of the shape of the gentle swirls as they dissolve into the air.

“Kids were being mean to me at school,” he mumbles miserably.

“Again? Was it that Hayato kid?”

Yuuri nods. Mari scowls. Silence.

“I don’t get what his problem is, always picking on you… hey, next time, you should tell him to stop teasing you, or you’ll hit him with your skates.”

“M-Mari-neechan! So violent!”

Mari chuckles lightly and ruffles his hair again.

“You shouldn’t worry about what he says so much, Yuuri-”

“He was saying that I don’t have a soulmate, just because I don’t have a soul bond. And I’m weak. And no one would w-want me as their soulmate a-anyway,” Yuuri blurts out, cutting her off. Mari falls silent, her jaw clenched. Her shoulders are shaking a little with suppressed rage.

“Ah, you don’t have to get so angry, nee-chan!” he says hurriedly to reassure her, waving his hands around in front of him in a placating gesture. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

Mari frowns at him again in slight disbelief. “Not such a big deal? That kid is such a little-” she stops herself, no doubt to prevent herself from displaying a rather colourful choice of words in front of Yuuri. “He… he shouldn’t say those kinds of things to you.”

Yuuri tries to shrug it off and sips his tea. “It’s okay. Maybe he’s right anyway…”

“Don’t say that.”

He looks up at his big sister with eyes full of questions. Mari wishes she could answer them so Yuuri won’t be so troubled anymore. Her sweet little brother doesn’t deserve all of this.

“Can I see your soul bond, nee-chan?” Yuuri asks in a soft spoken voice. Mari furrows her eyebrows, making it seem like she doesn’t think it’s a good idea right now.

“Please?” he adds for good measure. Her gaze softens and she holds up her right hand, her little finger slightly extended. Yuuri cocks his head to the side and stares at it. Mari tells him to concentrate harder, so he does, and a red string appears around her finger when he squints hard enough. He lets out a small gasp of delight and follows the red string with his eyes. It stretches across the dining area and all the way out to the reception, where it no doubt disappears out of the entrance.

“Can we follow it, nee-chan?”

“Right now? I don’t think so, little brother,” Mari laughs. “It stretches out across the ocean anyway. I can’t follow it past the beach.”

“Will you follow it all the way someday?”

“Well, you’re full of questions today, aren’t you? Yeah… maybe someday.”

Mari looks at the string with a faraway look in her eyes. The painful feeling is starting up in Yuuri’s chest again. Something like longing, or maybe jealousy. He shakes his head and downs the rest of his cooled down tea in one big gulp.

“Thanks for the tea, Mari-neechan. Goodnight,” he murmurs and hops off the bar stool, wandering back upstairs. He glances at the clock in the hallway on the way back to his room. It’s late. He’d stayed up and drank tea with his sister for a lot longer than he thought.

Sighing, Yuuri settles back into bed and bundles himself up in the covers until he’s nice and comfortable. He shuts his eyes, hoping for a miracle. Maybe tomorrow, he’ll wake up with a nice, lovely soul mark and everything will be fine and Hayato-kun won’t tease him anymore and… and…

Yuuri falls into a fitful sleep and he dreams that he doesn’t have a soulmate. Hayato-kun’s spiteful voice echoes in his head, taunting him, telling him no one wants him to be their soulmate. At four in the morning, he jolts awake after a particularly nasty dream. Normally he wouldn’t be able to fall back asleep, but there’s a voice in the back of his mind calling him to sleep. So Yuuri lets his eyes fall shut again, and he has the most wonderful dream of his entire nine years of life so far.

~

“-Yuuri! Yuuri, wake up!”

He wakes with a start, breathing heavily as his kaa-san shakes his shoulder. She sighs and hugs him tightly. “You were having a nightmare, dear… you sounded so upset.”

“I wasn’t,” Yuuri whispers. “I was having the best dream and I met the most amazing person and his name is…”

He pauses and frowns to himself. He’s sure he knows what the other boy’s name is. He told Yuuri, didn’t he?

“His name is…”

“Yuuri? What are you mumbling about?”

He pays his kaa-san no attention as he strains to remember. Was the person even a boy? How old are they? What colour are their eyes? What was it about them that made Yuuri feel so happy? He knows all of this already, he’s sure he does…

Yuuri doesn’t remember. He can’t remember. Why can’t he remember what happened in the best dream he’s ever had? This isn’t fair. He wants to curl up in a ball and maybe cry a bit (a lot) because it _just_ _isn’t fair_. He hopes whatever being out there responsible for this is having a nice laugh at his misery. 

He tells his kaa-san he’s got a slight headache, so she pats his head and leaves him to rest. She brings him some piping hot okayu with eggs and a cup of his favourite genmaicha later, but both of them are left untouched. All Yuuri can think about is how he feels as if for a moment, he’d been holding the most precious thing in the entire universe before having it torn away from him.

After moping for a short while, he realises that lying in bed all day isn’t suddenly going to make him remember. It’s Saturday, so he can go to Ice Castle and dance at Minako’s studio for as long as he likes today. The thought makes Yuuri perk up a little as he eats his lukewarm breakfast and goes about his morning routine. He gives his reflection a wide grin as he brushes his teeth and pokes at a wobbly tooth. He hopes it doesn’t fall out until after photo day because it would be so embarrassing to have a gap in his teeth like last year.

 There’s a bento waiting for him downstairs because his kaa-san knows he’ll be too busy skating to be back for lunch. Yuuri puts it in his bag with a smile and reminds himself to thank her later. As soon as he’s ready, he’s out the door and running the distance from the onsen to Ice Castle.

Yuuko is already there and Nishigori arrives not long after Yuuri does. The older boy tries to rope Yuuri into playing ice hockey with him like he always does, but he’s content to just skate compulsory figures aimlessly and do the simple little single jumps Yuuko taught him how to do. Sometimes, if the rink isn’t too busy, Yuuri likes to try out little choreographic sequences and discover how dancing translates on the ice. Skating is as easy as walking, as easy as dancing, as easy as breathing. It’s second nature at this point. He’s considered getting serious about it and getting a proper coach to become a professional, but it’s mostly just a daydream at this point.

“I had a weird dream last night,” Yuuri says when they take a break for lunch. The three of them are sitting on a bench just outside of Ice Castle, eating and soaking up the spring sunshine. Hanami is soon, Yuuri remembers. He can’t wait until his kaa-san makes her special sakura _wagashi_ again and he can watch the cherry blossoms float down from trees like soft pink rain.

“What was it about?” Yuuko and Nishigori ask in unison, stopping to glance at each other and smile. Yuuri rolls his eyes and pushes down the jealousy that flares up in his chest. He thinks of what he asked Arakawa yesterday at school.

_“What’s it like having a soulmate?”_

“I don’t remember a lot… the details are kind of fuzzy. I remember skating with someone but-”

The rest of his sentence is cut off by Yuuko’s ‘ooh’ of excitement. Yuuri drops his bite of rice from his chopsticks in alarm when she leans closer with a playful glint in her eye. He doesn’t like that look, not one bit.

“You were dreaming about someone?” she smirks, her tone teasing and sing-song. “Who was it?”

Yuuri’s face turns red faster than a traffic light. “I-It’s not like that! Not at all! No way!”

“Who’s the mystery person then?” Nishigori asks, taking interest in the conversation again after tuning out and staring at some birds. Yuuri sighs to himself and leans back on the bench, taking a bite of chicken.

“That’s the thing. I can’t remember,” he laments. “I know it’s someone I’ve never met or even _seen_ before, but I woke up and I couldn’t remember anything about them.”

“Huh. That _is_ weird…” Yuuko ponders, nibbling the end of one of her chopsticks. She looks like she’s thinking hard about something. She gasps suddenly, slamming her hand down on the bench seat and turning to Yuuri with a grin. “I’ve got it!”

Yuuri blinks. “Got what?”

“Yuuri-kun, I think that person was your soulmate!”

He stares at her uncomprehendingly. He’s not exactly sure what to think. He’s not even sure he actually _understands_.

“So…” he begins uncertainly. “You’re saying that I… dreamed up a soulmate?”

“Yeah! Well… not exactly, but listen…”

So Yuuri listens curiously as Yuuko tells him about an older cousin of hers who lives in Sapporo and shares dreams with her soulmate. He perks up with every word Yuuko says, but he’s afraid of getting his hopes up and being disappointed. It was probably some random dream about some random person and it doesn’t mean anything. After skating a bit more, he heads off to Minako’s studio and puts all this soulmate business out of his head.

He’d managed to convince himself it was only a random dream until two weeks after the first time and he dreamed of that person again. He’d brushed it off as mere chance, but he was starting to have his doubts. His flimsy theory that it was all a big coincidence had crumbled to pieces after the fourth time, and the little voice in his head wondering if Yuuko was right finally won him over.

Maybe, just maybe, Yuuri might have a soulmate after all, and the thought excites him like nothing else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: I messed around a lot with the structure of this chapter. Eventually I settled on this and I kinda like how it turned out. Younger Yuuri and protective Mari were so much fun to write, and Takeshi and Yuuko!! I wish we'd seen more of their friendship as kids owo


	3. tell me who you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri clears his head in a rink before the Cup of China, unaware of a certain spectator.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: some talk of anxiety, please don't read if it might upset you ♡

All the pent up pressure and stress bears down on Yuuri with all of its weight and it’s so, _so_ close to crushing him completely. It’s his first time competing in the senior Grand Prix series and he’s been assigned to the Cup of China for his first qualifying event. Normally, he can sleep on planes with no problem, but he hadn’t slept a single second on the long flight from Detroit to China.

Yuuri’s lying in a bed in a hotel in Beijing, staring up at the ceiling and counting the lights aimlessly. He skipped dinner because his insides were churning and he didn’t know if he’d be able to stomach any of the food, as delicious as it looked. It’s still pretty early and social media tells him that most of the other skaters are out catching up and partying with their friends, but he isn’t well acquainted with anyone. Besides, all he wants to do now is rest.

The sheets are stiff and smell of cleaning products, so he doesn’t find much comfort in the bed. The jetlag is catching up with him and making him sleepy. It’s not the good kind of sleepy though, it’s the kind of sleepy where his whole body feels like it’s made of lead and he’s slowly sinking down to the bottom of the ocean. He’ll be sluggish for sure when he wakes up in the morning.

In two days’ time, the day of the short programs will arrive and Yuuri is scared. And of course, it doesn’t help that Viktor Nikiforov is competing in the Cup of China as well. Just his luck that he got assigned to the same competition as _his idol_ for his first assignment in the Grand Prix! His second one is the NHK Trophy though, so it makes him a little more comfortable to know he’ll be in his home country.

But at the same time, won’t everyone be expecting him to do well? Yuuri’s one of the few Japanese skaters participating in the Grand Prix. Everyone will be counting on him to do Japan proud! Oh god, what if his family and friends come to watch him? What if he completely messes everything up and disappoints everyone? What if-

Yuuri groans loudly and bundles himself up in the sheets. He tries to block out the negative thoughts and focus on something else. He runs through his programs in his head, step by step, component by component. It helps to quieten his anxious thoughts. The music for his short program plays itself in his head. A combination spin here, next a triple axel, then the step sequence…

 His phone buzzes on the nightstand, making him lose focus for a moment. Yuuri checks his notification tray. If it isn’t important, he’ll ignore it and switch his phone off. His heart leaps at the name at the top of the screen. Phichit’s texting him. He opens his messages in record speed.

**_peach_ **

_(21:34) Chokh dī Yuuri!!!!_  
(21:34) You better get some sleep tonight  
(21:34) And don’t forget to eat  
(21:35) Shouldn’t you be at practice?  
_(21:35) …I’m taking a break -3-_  
(21:35) You know Celestino would make you skate until you drop for being on your phone  
_(21:35) Well he’s not here is he? ;)_  
(21:36) Anyway, I just wanted to wish you luck  
(21:36) How are you doing?

Yuuri bites his cheek nervously as his hands start to shake. He wills himself to just calm down and focus.

_(21:38)_ Tbh, not so well  
_(21:38)_ Can we call?  
_(21:38) Yeah ofc_

Yuuri’s phone lights up with an incoming FaceTime call from Phichit and he accepts it immediately. His best friend’s face appears on the screen. He looks worried. Yuuri vaguely registers that Phichit is moving outside the rink now, probably to avoid putting extra pressure on him by seeing the other skaters back in Detroit. He’s the only one of Celestino’s skaters who has been assigned to the Cup of China.

“Yuuri, you look like you’re going to be sick,” Phichit remarks, furrowing his brow and frowning. Yuuri huffs out a mirthless laugh.

“Maybe because I feel like I _am_ going to be sick,” he responds with the slightest hint of snark he definitely didn’t intend to add in. He sighs deeply and hugs his pillow tighter to his chest. “I’m just… so nervous…”

“I’m pretty sure everyone feels nervous before a competition, you know.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t just a competition, it’s the _Grand Prix_! _Viktor Nikiforov_ is here! Oh, Phichit, I’m probably going to bomb the whole thing and embarrass myself in front of the entire world _and_ my idol, and then I won’t make it to the final and this would have all been a waste of Celestino’s time-”

“Whoa, Yuuri, slow down!”

Yuuri stops talking and his mouth snaps shut with an audible click of teeth. He clenches his jaw, anxiety bubbling up in his chest like a pot left on to boil for too long. The negative thoughts he’d tried so hard to shut out are coming a mile a minute now.

Phichit sighs on the screen. “I wish I could say something that would let you stop worrying about all this…”

_I wish you could too,_ Yuuri thinks. He needs a distraction from all the thoughts swirling in his head. Losing himself to his anxiety is like falling into the ocean. All these thoughts will weigh him down, one by one, until it’s too hard to keep fighting and too easy to just let go and sink. Too hard to drag himself back up to the surface and too easy to just let himself drown.

“Look, Yuuri, you’ve been working _so_ hard for this. All those times you said you were going to the library to study when you were actually going to the rink to practice-”

“You know about that?”

“Of course I do! Celestino told me, but I figured it out way before he did. He wanted me to make sure you didn’t overwork yourself.”

Yuuri huffs at that. “I can take care of myself-”

“What about that time last year, when you worked yourself so hard you nearly messed up your knee?”

Silence, tense silence.

Yuuri swallows nervously. He can feel Phichit’s piercing gaze all the way from Detroit.

“That was a year ago. I won’t ever be so careless again…”

His answer seems to satisfy Phichit, who nods. “Good,” he says softly. “Have some faith in yourself, Yuuri. I know you can do it, Ciao Ciao knows you can do it, everyone knows you can do it. So what’s stopping you from believing it too?”

Yuuri hesitates before answering, staring out past his phone at the city through the glass wall of his hotel room. City lights wink at him, each one blurred and out of focus like bokeh in a photograph because he hasn’t got his glasses on. “…I lack confidence.”

He can practically see Phichit’s mind working on the screen before his best friend tells him to think of one positive thing about this whole experience. Phichit makes him think of another, and another, and another, until it seems like the positives might just outweigh his anxious thoughts.

Perhaps the most important positive of all, Viktor Nikiforov is here, and Yuuri is going to be able to skate on the same ice as him, just like he’s always wanted since he was twelve. Stars are practically shining in his eyes by now at the thought. He might even be able to get to talk to his long-time idol.

They talk for a few more minutes before one of the other coaches comes over to chew Phichit out for leaving practice. He explains why he left and the coach’s tone softens when Phichit mentions his name. When he returns his attention to their call, Yuuri gives him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry for keeping you from practice,” he says sheepishly.

“Nah, it’s not a big deal. I’d skip ten practices and suffer Ciao Ciao’s wrath for you.”

Phichit has to get back to the rink, so he wishes Yuuri luck one more time and tells him everyone’s rooting for him. Instead of causing stomach churning fear like it normally would, Phichit’s words fill Yuuri with a kind of determination he doesn’t often feel. He thanks his friend again and they end their call.

Yuuri puts his phone on the nightstand, shuts his eyes and tries to fall asleep. His brain is awake with a buzz, however, and it takes him a little while to realise that it’s excitement. For once, Yuuri isn’t scared out of his wits in the face of a looming competition. For once, he feels _excited_.

Too hyped up to sleep, he practically leaps out of bed and changes into his athletic gear in record speed. The private practice rink is open for another couple of hours, so Yuuri heads there after sending Celestino a quick text to let his coach know where he is. He gets some kind of garbled response which he thinks is along the lines of ‘okay, stay safe’, so he assumes his coach has been out drinking. He probably hasn’t even had that much to drink. Honestly, that man is a lightweight.

As he had hoped, the rink is pretty much empty because most of the skaters are still out or resting in their hotel rooms. There’s only a couple of pair skaters practicing their lifts and they’re just about finished when Yuuri laces up his skates and stretches. They give him friendly waves and wish him luck as they leave. A little surprised, Yuuri waves back with a quiet, “Thank you, good luck to you as well...”

The rink is empty now and Yuuri is alone. Perfect.

He skates a few laps of the rink, the sound of his blades against the ice filling the air. Instead of practicing his programs like he logically should, Yuuri finds himself starting to skate a routine he doesn’t remember ever skating before. As soon as he focuses, he immediately knows it’s something he’s skated to with his soulmate before. A tune forms in his head with every sweep of his skates, every movement of his feet.

A soft piano piece rings out in his imagination, evoking memories of particularly gentle times in his life. It makes him think of warm hugs and gentle touches and his heart aches for his soulmate. The music sounds wonderful, just like something Yuuri would happily skate to for a routine. He feels like he could close his eyes and keep skating on just like that, but it would probably result in a stupid accident. He can almost see the sports headlines now: ‘ _Japan’s Katsuki Yuuri out of the Grand Prix after injury in Beijing._ He shakes his head and laughs softly to himself.

Yuuri tries to remember the story that goes with this skate, but it’s incomplete without his soulmate skating the other part alongside him. He lets himself get lost in the imagined music and for the first time in a long time, he skates just for fun. He’s been neglecting his own enjoyment for too long in favour of working himself until his muscles scream in protest preparing for the Grand Prix.

Talking with Phichit has eased his mind and dare he say it, Yuuri feels a little confident. Sure, there’s absolutely no chance in hell he could beat Viktor Nikiforov, but he’s confident he can do well, achieve a good score and maybe even grab a spot on the podium. He’s worked too hard to fail now. He’s worked too hard to let it all go to waste now.

Before he knows it, his body has brought him into the closing position of the dream routine. He stands with an arm outstretched to someone who isn’t there and he feels a pang of loneliness. Oh, how he wishes his soulmate was here with him. He stays in that position until his arm grows tired and he leaves the ice for a moment to rest and take a drink.

A soft sound has his head whipping toward the rink entrance. He could’ve sworn it sounded like footsteps. Yuuri puts on his glasses and searches for any sign of another person, but there’s nothing. He shakes his head. It’s getting late and he probably imagined it.

It’s past eleven now, so he decides to finish up soon and make his way back to the hotel. He practices his jumps for around fifteen minutes, cheering to himself whenever he lands one perfectly. A rash decision has him setting up for a quad Salchow and to his utter surprise, he sticks the landing. It was a bit shaky, but it’s certainly better than pretty much all his other attempts.

Yuuri’s never landed a quad Salchow in competition before, so to be safe, there aren’t any in his short and free programs. This season, both of his programs are designed to rack up his PCS. Jumps are far from his strong point and his program component scores are always higher than his technical ones.

Yuuri knows his skating is unique, he’s been told so many times, but he just can’t help but wish that the technical aspect of his skating was stronger. If he had a better jump repertoire to go with his high PCS, he could be serious competition…

That’s a thought for another day though, so Yuuri puts it aside and packs up his gear. He texts Celestino to tell him he’ll be back soon, but he doesn’t get a reply. His coach is probably sleeping off the alcohol in his room. For his coach’s birthday, Yuuri should get Celestino a higher alcohol tolerance.

By the time he arrives back at the hotel, showers and climbs into bed, it’s about 11:50 and he’s exhausted. He wonders how his soulmate is doing as he drifts off to sleep. It’s been a long time since they’ve dreamed together, because of Yuuri’s countless nights of restlessness lately. Tonight though, as odd as it is, Yuuri doesn’t dream at all.

~

Viktor’s on the way back to Russia from Beijing with a win at the Cup of China, but his victory is the last thing on his mind. As he stares out of the plane window, he finds that he can’t stop thinking about Katsuki Yuuri. The Japanese skater is a newcomer, yet he’d managed to score silver at his first Grand Prix assignment.

Katsuki Yuuri moves like magic, and Viktor was caught under his spell from the very moment he started moving on the ice.

There’s something about him that feels so familiar, almost like they’ve known each other for years. Viktor can’t help but be drawn towards him and he wants to see him skate again so badly. There’s just _something_ about him Viktor can’t place and it makes his heart ache with an unknown feeling. It’s something he can’t explain, something that could never be put into words. It’s like the feeling he tries to convey when he skates to _Stammi Vicino_ , but he barely scratches the surface of its complexity.

Whenever he searches his mind for any sign of where he might’ve met Katsuki before, though, his memories inexplicably start to slip from his grasp like grains of sand falling through his fingers. It fills him with an intense frustration not unlike the one he feels whenever he wakes up after dreaming with his soulmate and forgets.

His soulmate…

Viktor would do anything to be able to remember just once.

All the little things he can recall, he cherishes deeply. His soulmate’s dark hair, tousled in a slightly messy, yet charming way. The way they can skate perfect compulsory figures, far better than Viktor can, and he’s been doing them all his life. Perhaps most importantly of all, and Viktor is so thankful that he can remember, the way they dance on the ice like no one else he’s ever seen in his life…

Well, until he met Katsuki Yuuri. Viktor remembers that night a few days before the short programs when he’d stumbled upon him skating alone in the private rink. He closes his eyes and lets the memory wash over him like a tidal wave, the sounds on the plane slowly fading away as if someone is turning the volume down.  

_The cold ice rink air fans Viktor’s face as the automatic doors slide open, but it feels like nothing more than a refreshing ocean breeze to him. It’s quiet, just as he’d hoped. There are few things, Viktor thinks, that are better than being able to skate in an empty rink. Whenever it’s just him, his thoughts and the ice is when he truly feels calm._

_To his slight dismay, the air fills with the_ swoosh _of well-sharpened blades cutting into the ice as he approaches. It seems he’s not so lucky to get a rink all to himself tonight. The sound evokes a warm feeling in Viktor’s chest, almost like home. He supposes that’s what happens when your entire life has been centred around skating for the last two decades. The sound slows to a stop just as Viktor comes into view of the rink._

_There’s only one person on the ice, standing right in the centre. Judging by their build, it’s a man. He’s posed in a starting position that looks vaguely familiar, with his back towards Viktor. He thinks hard to recall why that position looks so familiar to him, but the memory darts away like a spooked horse._

_The man starts moving and Viktor’s grip on his bag slackens as all of the breath is stolen away from his lungs._

_The way the man moves is beautiful, heartbreakingly so, and Viktor is so sure he’s seen him before. Surely he wouldn’t ever forget seeing someone move on the ice so breathtakingly, but he just can’t remember for the life of him. He can almost hear the music in his head, piano notes ringing out every time the man’s blades touch the ice. The man launches into a gorgeous sequence of spins, making Viktor actually sigh out loud. He laughs to himself at the idea of swooning over a stranger’s skating, but here he is, in a nearly empty rink in Beijing, watching this mysterious person._

_It suddenly occurs to Viktor that he might be intruding on something private, not meant for anyone else’s eyes. He simply can’t bring himself to look away though, not when this stranger is moving on the ice almost as if he’s making music and telling a story with his body._

_With the unmitigated amount of talent that he possesses, there’s no way the man isn’t a competitive skater. An ice dancer, perhaps? Oh, Viktor would be infinitely jealous of whoever is lucky enough to be his partner if the man is an ice dancer. He’s so baffled that he’s never seen this person before in his life._

_In a moment of realisation, Viktor thinks that the man almost reminds him of the way his soulmate skates in his dreams. Suddenly, a heart-wrenching longing slams into his chest with the force of a bullet train as he thinks of his soulmate. It’s been at least a month since the last time they had a dream. He wonders if his soulmate is asleep now, wherever they are, and he wonders if he returns to his hotel room right now and goes to bed, they’ll dream together._

_While Viktor’s attention was momentarily placed on his soulmate, the man on the ice has almost finished his routine. After some stunning footwork which makes Viktor take a breath in awe (and maybe makes him a little envious too), he slows to a stop at the centre of the rink. The man has an arm extended, almost as if he’s reaching out to someone._

_Viktor wonders if this routine is meant to be a pair skate. It would make sense, with the way the man always skated a little to the left, as if he was leaving room for someone next to him. His head fills with ideas and Viktor recognises the mindset he’s getting into. He’s inspired._

_He shoots one last glance at the stranger in the rink, who drops his closing position and glides over to the side to take a drink. As silently as he can, Viktor turns and leaves without looking back to check if the man has noticed he was there._

_When he gets back to his hotel room, Yakov berates him for staying out so late practicing. Viktor doesn’t mention that he wasn’t actually skating and he was just watching someone else, because it sounds incredibly creepy. Instead, he gives his coach a wide, heart-shaped smile and bids him good night._

_Viktor stays up all night positively buzzing with inspiration, thinking of the stranger in the rink and his wonderful routine that somehow seems so, so familiar._

_(With gold around his neck at the medals ceremony a few days later, Viktor glances down at Katsuki Yuuri, the stranger from the rink, on the podium just below him. Silver flashes in the light against Katsuki’s costume as he smiles shyly at the cameras and Viktor prays to every single god out there in the entire universe that the Japanese skater makes it to the Grand Prix Final. He wants to see him again so badly._

_When they get back to Russia, he finds out through Yakov that Katsuki’s PCS had barely, by a sliver of a point, edged out his own. When Viktor finally ends practice that day, he runs home and curls up in bed with Makkachin and his laptop and his phone. His search history piles up with Google search after Google search and he watches every single video of Katsuki Yuuri he can find._

_Makkachin falls asleep sometime around two in the morning, but Viktor stays up all night, and he doesn’t even notice when sunlight begins to shine through his curtains. Despite this, his eyelids never grow heavy, as though he’s determined not to take his eyes off this oh so mysterious skater from Japan dancing his way across his laptop screen, even for a single second. ‘phichit+chu’ on Instagram, a rising Thai skater who appears to be one of Katsuki’s rink mates, is rapidly becoming his number one source of information._

_At the end of a video where he was practicing his admittedly gorgeous spins, Katsuki skates over to the camera with a radiant smile on his face and flushed cheeks. Viktor’s heart flutters, actually_ flutters _in his chest. Maybe, just maybe, he’s developed a tiny crush.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not particularly fond of this chapter, I think. But hey, some Viktor POV!! The next chapter is one I like quite a lot and we get more Viktor POV owo


	4. thought i could remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor is twelve and he doesn't have a soulmate.

Viktor shouldn’t be listening. But he heard his name as he passed on his way to get a glass of water, and curiosity had called him to investigate what they were talking about. So he stands with his back pressed against the wall, just out of sight, his heart in his throat.

A part of him already knows what they’re talking about. There’s only ever one topic they discuss when they talk about him.

“Still no soul bond?” Viktor’s aunt asks, keeping her voice low, even though she knows Viktor is supposed to be in bed. He assumes that his mother shakes her heads no, because his aunt sighs a moment later. Viktor wants to be angry at her for being so blunt about his lack of a soul bond, but she views the topic of soulmates differently to him.

His aunt had met her soulmate when she was barely twenty. They had a whirlwind romance, which included running away to Paris to get married, like something straight out of a clichéd romance novel. To her, the idea of Viktor not having a soulmate completely baffles her.

He tries to imagine being like his aunt, meeting his soulmate and falling in love, but it just makes his chest squeeze painfully. He tries to think of himself in the scenarios that his aunt so vividly describes whenever someone asks her a question about her soulmate. He imagines himself meeting the gaze of a faceless figure in a little coffee shop and running away to Paris and it just feels _wrong_. It’s too unrealistic for him, too hard to believe that you could find your soulmate so easily. His aunt just got incredibly lucky.

Viktor much prefers his parents’ story. They’ve both got beautiful matching tattoos of heliotropes just below the nape of their necks, a bouquet of pretty purple flowers dotted with green leaves. He’s heard the story countless times from both his mother and his father, but it fills him with delight every single time.

While his aunt’s story is flashy and fast-paced, his parents’ is sweet and so utterly romantic. His favourite part is when his father presents his mother with a bunch of heliotropes and they realise they’re soulmates. Once, his mother had shown him a picture of the two of them when they were young, smiling brightly and holding hands like they’d never let go of each other. He’d loved it so much they’d made a copy for him to frame and place in his room. It might be a little weird, but it always reminds Viktor that such a pure love really does exist in the world.

His aunt’s voice rings out in the air again and he’s jolted back to the present from his brief reverie.

“How much longer can we keep hoping?”

“Maybe his soulmate hasn’t been born yet,” his mother protests, but Viktor can sense the slight resignation in her voice. She hasn’t given up hope yet, but it’s wavering.

“Even so, Katya, Viktor is almost thirteen now. What happens if the age gap grows even larger? I doubt he would want to be with someone so much younger than him,” his aunt counters, her tone weary. She murmurs something else, too low for Viktor to catch, and his mother snaps back a reply too fast for him to understand.

He would’ve stayed there and listened until his aunt left if it weren’t for the strong arms that hoisted him up and draped him over a broad shoulder like a rag doll. Viktor barely stops himself from letting out a loud yelp of surprise. “Papa, put me down!” he whisper-yells, slapping his father’s back in a more playful way than anything. His father chuckles quietly and carries him upstairs to his bedroom, with Viktor pouting dramatically the entire way.

He places Viktor down on the bed carefully and sits next to him, the small mattress dipping under his weight. Makkachin curls up on his lap with a snuffle and Viktor tangles a hand in his poodle’s curly brown fur. The weight and warmth in his lap is comforting.

“You shouldn’t have been listening, Vitya,” his father says softly, reaching over to give Makkachin a scratch behind the ears. Considering his large physique, Dmitry Nikiforov is a surprisingly gentle man. Viktor averts his gaze to avoid looking into those blue eyes, the exact same shade as his own.

Viktor’s mother had told him once she was so glad he’d inherited his father’s lovely blue eyes. He’d argued back that he thought her grey eyes were beautiful too. She’d smiled softly at him, a sight which filled his entire being with warmth, and told him he was such a sweet boy.

“I know I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, Papa,” Viktor responds after a little while. “But the way Aunt Galya talks about me- me not having a soul bond, like she feels sorry for me, like she _pities_ me…”

He curls his free hand into a fist by his side in frustration. “I don’t like it.”

His father sighs and places a comforting hand between his shoulder blades. “I know you don’t, but you mustn’t resent her for it.”

“…It hurts,” Viktor admits quietly, petting Makkachin’s soft fur. “She always reminds me that everyone around me has a soul bond and then there’s just me. Like I’ll be lonely for the rest of my life-”

“That’s not true. Don’t ever say that, Vitya.”

For a moment that stretches into eternity, Viktor doesn’t talk. He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh far too long-suffering for a boy of his age. He turns his head up to stare right into his father’s eyes. Wide with childlike innocence, his own eyes seem to be even more intense than his father’s. It would be nearly impossible to lie to such a clear, piercing gaze.

“Are you and mama disappointed?” Viktor asks, his gaze never wavering once. The words claw at his chest as he forces them out, months of anxiety hiding behind them. “The old superstitions… a child without a soulmate is bad luck for the family, isn’t it?”

Makkachin moves off Viktor’s lap and lies next to his pillow as his father pulls him into a hug It’s like being wrapped up in the warmest blanket in existence and his heart swells. This is home, Viktor thinks, his father’s wonderful bear hugs and his mother’s beautiful smiles. He rests his head against his father’s broad chest and wraps his arms around his torso. When he was younger, Viktor’s arms were too small to reach all the way around his father’s middle, so he used to loop his arms around his neck and cling to his papa like a sloth. Of course, he’s grown too big for that now.

“Your mama and I will love you forever, Vitya, even if you don’t have a soulmate. Some silly old superstitions aren’t ever going to change that. You’ve already made us so proud… we couldn’t ask for a better son,” his father murmurs and Viktor lets the familiar sound of his slow, deep voice wash over him.

The urge to fall asleep tugs at his mind as he hides his face in his father’s shirt. It pulls and pulls, almost like an incessantly ringing phone that’ll chime forever until it’s answered. A voice stirs in the very back of his mind, soft and oh-so-captivating. It whispers sweet words to him, beckoning him into sleep’s embrace, but Viktor only registers one phrase.

_Someone’s waiting for you._

He’s already half-asleep when his father lays him down in bed and tucks him in like he’s five years old again. This is usually the part when Viktor asks either one of his parents to share a story before he goes to sleep. If they hesitate, he’ll crank up the charm with shining eyes and his heart-shaped smile that his mama swears will make people swoon left and right when he gets older. But tonight, he’s too tired for a story, and the pleasant voice is making sleep sound absolutely amazing right now.

Viktor’s awake enough to mumble a barely audible ‘good night’ to his father as the light is switched off. He can make out his mother’s silhouette leaning against the doorframe, stepping aside to let his father exit the room. There’s no doubt they’re going off to talk about him now. The faint sounds of hushed conversation are already seeping into the air.

A beam of moonlight slips through the slight gap in the curtains and illuminates the framed photograph on Viktor’s bedside table. Frozen in their seventeen-year-old bliss, his parents are sitting on a bench and holding hands. The light shines over his mother in the photo and lights up her utterly smitten grin and the dimple in her left cheek. A heliotrope is tucked jauntily behind her ear, the vibrant blue standing out against her cornsilk blonde hair.

Viktor wants to be happy like that someday. Viktor wants to be head over heels in love like that someday. Viktor wants…

“I want a soulmate,” he whispers to himself wistfully. Makkachin snuffles quietly and licks his cheek in a comforting gesture. Viktor smiles, his eyelids drop and he’s out like a light.

Viktor’s dream is… _weird_ to begin with _._ He feels kind of like a jellyfish, floating around in absolutely nothing. He seems to be sinking down in this empty space, because everything gets a little darker with every passing moment. It’s like the ocean, without the water and all the weird things swimming around in its depths.

A bubble floats up beside Viktor’s face, emitting muffled, distorted sounds like some kind of underwater speaker. Out of curiosity, he reaches out a hand to touch it and it pops the moment his finger makes contact with its delicate surface. There’s something akin to an explosion of sound, and when Viktor realises what the bubble was playing, nostalgia smacks him in the face like a tidal wave.

It’s a Russian song that his parents used to sing to him, some kind of duet about the rain. It never failed to put him to sleep when he was younger, far more effective than warm milk or counting sheep. Slowly, his parents had stopped needing to sing to him in order for him to fall asleep. It’s been at least three years since the last time. Viktor’s mind has always been too restless to let him get to sleep as quickly as other people.

Another bubble rises up and pops of its own accord right next to his face, but it’s not a song this time. Instead, the empty space fills with the sound of Viktor’s own voice, sounding much younger.

“Mama, Papa! Look at me, look!”

He recognises where this memory is from in a heartbeat. Nine years ago, his parents took him to an ice rink for the first time and Viktor fell in love. He remembers that day with such clarity, even though he was only three at the time. He remembers the pride he felt when he no longer needed to hold onto his parents’ hands, sliding across the ice on his tiny, wobbly feet. Five years later, his eight-year-old self was already doing jumps.

Several more bubbles drift up lazily, each bringing a part of the past that makes Viktor’s chest ache with reminiscence. They swirl around him gracefully until he drowns in his memories. Suddenly, it’s too much for him to take, too many emotions to handle all at once, and he shuts his eyes as his heart is tugged at from every direction possible.

The last of the bubbles pop as Viktor slowly opens his eyes again. He’s not hanging in nothingness anymore, the empty void replaced with an empty ice rink. The lights are off, leaving the moonbeams shining through the glass as the only sources of light. They cast an ethereal glow on the ice where they fall, the silhouettes of delicate snowflakes dotting the cold surface.

Viktor glides slowly and slightly hesitantly along the edge of the rink, his skates cutting thin lines into previously pristine ice. It doesn’t quite feel like ice right after a resurfacing, feeling more like ice that no one has ever touched before. It’s so incredibly satisfying to watch his skates etch pale lines in his wake.

Once he feels sufficiently warmed up, Viktor practices some jumps because, well, he’s not really sure what else he should do. Halfway through a triple Salchow, he wonders if it’s possible to flub a jump when he’s dreaming. He finds out the answer when his body meets the ice after his skate slips on the landing of said triple Salchow.  

It doesn’t hurt at all, feeling no more painful than a light tumble on a grassy surface. The only sensation he feels is the frigid ice on his skin, the coldness of it seeping into his body and stealing his warmth. There’s a tiny gasp from the rink side and Viktor hears blades against ice. A little blush paints its way across Viktor’s cheeks. He’s dreaming of someone. He can’t help but wonder who it is.

A figure kneels down next to him and when Viktor sits up to look, he’s stunned speechless. Of all the people he could ever expect to see, this person, this boy, is most definitely not one of them. His features are distinctly Asian and, _god_ , he’s adorable.

His black hair falls messily over his forehead and the moonlight catches in it, making it shine. His warm, brown eyes are framed by long eyelashes that Viktor swears touch the tops of his cheeks when he blinks. They’re wide with concern, darting over Viktor’s body for any signs of injury. His cheeks are round and soft and Viktor is overcome with the sudden urge to squish them like his Baba does to him whenever she visits.

He’s never seen this boy before in his life. Why is he dreaming of him?

“Are you hurt?” the boy asks in perfect Russian, which stuns Viktor a little. His mouth forms different words to what Viktor hears, making the boy seem like someone speaking in a video with the audio out of sync. How strange.

“I’m okay,” Viktor replies, also in Russian. The boy nods at this, apparently understanding Viktor, and helps him to his feet. His hands are so small, so warm. Viktor’s head is swimming in questions and he opens his mouth to blurt out the first one he can focus on, but his companion beats him to it.

“What’s your name?” he asks shyly. Without noticing, they’ve both started skating again, hands still linked.

“Viktor. And you?”

“Yuuri…”

“That’s a pretty name. I like it.”

The boy- Yuuri looks up at him as they skate by the side of the rink closest to the windows. The moonlight illuminates the faint pink on his cheeks and makes his pale skin glow. Yuuri mumbles something as he averts his gaze and Viktor asks him to repeat it.

“My name is written with the kanji for ‘courage’, but I don’t think it fits me. I’m not very courageous at all…”

Viktor smiles down blankly at the top of Yuuri’s head. One of the words hadn’t translated. When he wakes up, he’ll ask his parents what a ‘kanji’ is. “I’m sure that’s not true,” he says smoothly. Yuuri shakes his head rather sadly and skates to a stop. His gaze is cast down and he’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

“Some kids at school bully me a lot and I can’t even stand up to them by myself… what part of that is courageous?” Yuuri gives a little self-depreciating chuckle and Viktor is astounded by the amount of grief weighing down on this young boy’s shoulders.

“Yuuri, how old are you?”

“Nine.”

Nine years old, and he already carries the burdens of a boy much older than him. Viktor can’t help but want to take the weight off his shoulders for one fleeting moment of freedom. So he does.

“You’re a skater too, right?” Viktor asks, and he receives a small nod in response. He takes Yuuri’s other hand, so much smaller and warmer than his own, and pulls him forward on the ice. “Then skate with me!”

Yuuri gives a startled little yelp as Viktor continues to pull him forward, but he manages to keep his balance. For such a young boy, Yuuri moves with a stunning gracefulness flowing through every limb, every part of his body. Viktor can only imagine what an amazing skater Yuuri could become with time and the right training.

“Are you a dancer too, Yuuri?” he asks, mainly out of pure curiosity, and a little bit because he likes the way Yuuri’s name rolls off his tongue.

Yuuri averts his gaze again before responding, “Yeah… I do ballet…”

Viktor cocks his head to the side slightly, picking up on the younger boy’s body language. “You look embarrassed,” he notes, making Yuuri look up at him with wide eyes. “Why? Ballet is crazy hard to do, and ballet dancers make amazing skaters because of their flexibility.”

Yuuri holds his gaze before dropping his eyes to where their hands are linked. “Well, yeah… but it’s kind of _girly_ , isn’t it?”

“Says who?” Viktor demands. He’s never been one for gender stereotypes, even as a young child, and it irritates him to no end when people think of ice skating as just wearing pretty costumes and spinning around on ice. Yuuri mumbles something that sounds like ‘people at school’. Viktor would like very much to… _talk_ with these ‘people at school’.

“You can forget all about them, Yuuri. You should be proud of what you do!”

He gives Yuuri a wide, heart-shaped smile and watches as a look of pure joy unfolds on the younger boy’s face. He beams back at him with a grin that could rival the sun, and Viktor thinks there might even be tears in Yuuri’s eyes. He doesn’t think anyone’s ever looked at him this way before.

“Are you real?” they blurt out at the same time. There’s a slight pause before they dissolve into giggles, nearly crashing into the side of the rink in the process.

“Sorry,” Yuuri says, his face flushed. “It’s just… you’re so amazing that I’m afraid I’ve just dreamed you up.”

“Me? Amazing?”

Viktor is thinking the same thing about Yuuri. He’s too complex not to be real, too complex to just be a figment of Viktor’s imagination. On the other hand, it’s too improbable that Yuuri is a real person. Viktor’s never met him before. Why is he dreaming of him?

“Uh-huh,” Yuuri nods, looking up at Viktor with a smile which lights up his brown eyes. “Can you do a lot of jumps like that in real life?”

“Yeah, mostly doubles and a few triples. It’s always the landing I mess up for the triple Salchow, though. I’m working on it.”

Yuuri gives a little gasp of awe, his eyes shining with excitement. “That’s so cool! How old are you, Viktor?”

He tells Yuuri he’s thirteen in two weeks, and Yuuri gushes and rambles on about how incredible it is that Viktor can do triples already. Perhaps Yuuri is just inflating his ego, but Viktor feels his chest swell with pride with every word of praise that Yuuri speaks.

“What about you, Yuuri?” Viktor asks, suddenly curious about his background. Yuuri blushes a nice shade of red.

“There’s not much to talk about with me…” he says a little self-consciously. “I’ve been dancing since I was young, and my dance teacher introduced to me skating when I was around five. I’m nowhere near as good as you, obviously!”

Viktor can sense the insecurities hidden in the younger boy’s words. “I wouldn’t expect you to be,” he replies softly. Yuuri looks at him with an indecipherable expression. Surely there’s no way Yuuri can possibly be something made up by Viktor’s imagination, not with all the parts and layers to him that make up his character.

“There’s no way you can be real,” Yuuri declares suddenly, gripping Viktor’s hands just a little tighter, as if he’s afraid Viktor will disappear the moment he lets go.

“And why’s that?” Viktor asks, a smile gracing his features.

“I’ve never met you, and you know barely anything about me, but it’s like you always know what to say to make me feel better. And you’re super talented. And I’ve never seen anyone with a smile shaped like a heart before…” Yuuri replies bashfully. Viktor’s smile just widens.

And then Yuuri _flickers_.

He gasps, clutching Viktor’s hands even tighter than before. “Please,” he begs, and the look on his face makes Viktor’s heart clench painfully, even if he doesn’t know what Yuuri’s pleading for. “I don’t want to wake up…”

“I… Yuuri, I don’t understand-”

He flickers again. “P-Please… no, I want… I want to…”

His voice is fading in and out like a radio switching stations. “Yuuri, I-I can’t hear you… what’s happening?”

Yuuri flickers faster as he screws his eyes shut and holds onto Viktor’s hands almost painfully, as if he’s drowning and Viktor is a life buoy. Viktor clutches his hands just as tightly, but he doesn’t understand, he doesn’t know what’s happening.

“Please… I want to stay... don’t want to wake up…”

He flickers once, twice, three times. He doesn’t reappear. The ice rink vanishes under his feet and Viktor is floating in the empty sea again like a lost little jellyfish. He finds himself wondering just what this dream was all about. He has too many unanswered questions.

Viktor is alone, and he misses Yuuri already. He wonders if he’ll ever dream about him again. Perhaps Yuuri _is_ real and not just a wild dream of Viktor’s. There’s no way he could ever forget him.

By some wonderful miracle, maybe he’ll even meet Yuuri someday in the future. The thought excites him more than anything else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally get to see their first dream!! Something about Viktuuri as kids is so fun to write. I don't like the next chapter very much, and I don't have time to rewrite it soon, so I'll just be posting little bits from it that I liked ♡


	5. remind me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The thrill of victory burns in Yuuri's veins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to cut out a lot from this chapter and alter little bits, so it's shorter than usual... aa i hope it still makes sense x-x  
> regardless, i hope you enjoy!

Yuuri honestly thinks he could get addicted to this feeling. It fills him with a thrill that runs through his body, and he never wants it to stop singing in his veins. Victory is a drug, far more intoxicating than any illicit one, and he’s already getting hooked. His legs start trembling as he holds up his gold medal and poses for official photos.

Camera flashes come from each and every direction like winking stars against the black night sky of the crowd and Yuuri gives them a bright smile. The applause and cheering echoing around the rink is almost deafening.

It’s not like he hasn’t ever been on the podium before. He just isn’t used to being in the middle. He just isn’t used to standing on the highest one. He just isn’t used to the way the gold medal hangs around his neck and rests against the soft, flowy blue material of his costume.

Yuuri isn’t used to being _first_.

He’d come close in the Cup of China, clinching silver and standing next to his long-time idol on the podium. Somehow, he’d felt more nervous back then, just one level lower than Viktor Nikiforov himself. God, he’d nearly had a heart attack when Viktor caught him looking and flashed him a smile. The imprint of the image had been burned into the backs of his eyelids for a week after. He couldn’t stop picturing that smile, as small of a thing it was. Viktor has probably forgotten all about him by now anyway. He’s just a dime-a-dozen newcomer skater from Japan, after all.

Perhaps it’s because he’s in his home country, but Yuuri had felt a renewed determination to win. Japan was counting on him, and he wanted to deliver, he _needed_ to deliver. There was no way he was going to let anyone else claim victory in the NHK Trophy. His previous personal best for his free skate had been smashed by a solid 20 points.

After the medals, Yuuri sits an unused room in a daze. Celestino had fought off reporters for him, saying that Yuuri was tired and he needed rest. The reporters wouldn’t have it, of course. They all wanted to talk with Katsuki Yuuri, Japan’s rising talent who came out of nowhere and claimed gold at his second Grand Prix assignment.

Yuuri is virtually non-existent on social media. He has Instagram, Twitter and Facebook, but that’s about it. He doesn’t really make the existence of his social media accounts a big thing either. The majority of his followers are family, friends and fans from Japan. He mostly uses them to look at Viktor’s posts, but no one has to know.

He’s pretty much a media enigma too. Yuuri has done about two interviews in his entire career, the only information about him available online is on his JSF page, and the only time he posts is when Vicchan does something exceptionally adorable. It hadn’t been that big of a deal before, but now that he’s come out of the shadows with a gold and a silver at his assignments, the skating world outside of Japan is desperate to know more.

Hands shaking a little, Yuuri slips off his gold medal from around his neck and turns it over in his hands. It glints in the low lighting of the empty room, sparkling more beautifully than the rarest treasure in the entire world. He’ll hand it over to Celestino later for safekeeping until they get back to Detroit because he doesn’t really trust himself with it, but he lets himself have this moment for now.

It’s only a little thing, really, just a gold from an assignment. Viktor Nikiforov probably has a box full of them. It isn't as though he’s won the Grand Prix Final or anything, but it means so much to Yuuri as he holds it in his hands, and the reality of it all hits him in this one moment. He won.

_He won._

His first ever gold medal in an official senior Grand Prix series, clutched in his hand so tightly it leaves an imprint on his palm. Slowly, Yuuri lifts it to his face and lets it hang there for a moment. It's not like he's never won a gold medal at all before, but something about this one makes it all the more beautiful. Impulsively, his lips touch the gold, just like Viktor Nikiforov does at all his medals ceremonies. Yuuri hadn’t done it in front of the cameras, of course, being far too shy to kiss his medal in public. But here in this empty room, where there’s no one but himself, it seems a little symbolic.

He’s one step closer to meeting his idol on the same playing field. The Grand Prix Final.

Later, he’ll look back at this moment and think about how weird he was being, but for now, Yuuri is happy. His phone buzzes more times than he can count, jolting him out of his thoughts. Phichit is texting him incessantly.

**_peach_ **

_(20:02) YUURI  
(20:02) YUURI  
(20:02) YUURI  
(20:02) YUURI  
(20:02) YUURI  
(20:02) Y U U R I   
(22:05) YUURI KATSUKI   
(22:05) ANSWER  
(22:05) YOUR  
(22:05) DAMN  
(22:05) PHONE  
(22:06) THIS IS IMPORTANT  
(22:06) _ What??  
_(22:06) CHECK INSTAGRAM RIGHT NOW  
(22:07) _ There are too many notifications though…  
_(22:07) JUST CHECK VIKTOR’S PLS  
(22:07) IT’S VERY VERY IMPORTANT  
(22:07) _ Okay calm down  
_(22:07) Oh believe me you won’t be calm when you see it_

Sighing, Yuuri taps on the Instagram app, dreading what’s possibly got Phichit so worked up. His feed is mostly filled with Grand Prix and skating stuff and the odd animal post. He’s quite fond of this one Japanese cat account, but all the dog posts make him miss Vicchan. He scrolls through a few of his notifications, mostly people tagging him in comments and posts about his NHK Trophy win and a _lot_ of new followers. He nearly skims right over one message before it catches his eye and he has to do a double take.

**_v-nikiforov_ ** _has tagged you in a post._

Several thoughts run through Yuuri’s head. Most of them are variations of ‘oh my god’ and ‘what’. Yuuri takes a moment to breathe before tapping on the notification numbly. 

It’s a selfie of his idol looking as handsome as ever, smiling at the camera as something plays on the TV in the background. Yuuri has a heart attack when he realises just what he’s watching. It’s the broadcast of the NHK Trophy, and Yuuri is skating his free program. His heart starts racing rather inexplicably as he scrolls down to read the caption.

❤︎ Liked by **phichit+chu** , **christophe-gc** and **11,271 others**

 **v-nikiforov** @katsukiyuu Congrats on the gold! This year’s GPF is going to be interesting. (Oh, and a little birdie told me it’s your birthday today, so happy birthday!)  
  
#NHKTrophy2015 #SochiGrandPrix #YuuriKatsuki

_View all 2,056 comments  
_ 2 HOURS AGO

Yuuri nearly keels over in shock. He pinches himself just to make sure he’s not dreaming. It hurts. This is real. He bites down on the sleeve of his jacket and screams quietly.

Viktor Nikiforov congratulated him on his gold. Viktor Nikiforov watched him skate. _Viktor Nikiforov_ _wished him a happy birthday._ This is like all of his childhood dreams come true, for the person he admires the most to notice him. Absentmindedly, he wonders who this ‘little birdie’ that told Viktor it was his birthday is as he exits Instagram and pulls up his texts.

**_peach_ **

_(22:12)_ OH MY GOD  
_(22:12) RIGHT?????  
(22:12) _ He watched the NHK Trophy  
_(22:12)_ He actually watched me skate  
_(22:13)_ HE SAID HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME  
_(22:13)_ I THINK I’M GOING TO CRY  
_(22:13) If only you had Snapchat oh my god  
(22:13) His entire story is him reacting to your skating  
(22:13) He thinks you’re amazing_  
_(22:13) I’m so proud of you Yuuri  
(22:13) _ I’m actually shaking   
_(22:14)_ I can’t believe this is happening  


Yuuri’s cheeks heat up as the wobbliest grin spreads across his face. Could this day get any better? Surely this is all too good to be true. Surely he’s going to wake up at any moment and reality will slap him in the face. He texts Phichit for a little bit longer before he remembers he has somewhere to be.

Back in their shared hotel room, Celestino is on his phone, reading something intently. The list of those who qualified for the Grand Prix Final. Yuuri takes a couple of deep breaths as Celestino reads it out to him.

“Viktor Nikiforov, of course. No surprise there, seeing as he won gold at both of his assignments. Christophe Giacometti from Switzerland…”

Yuuri is well acquainted with Christophe and they interact every now and again on social media. His theme choices are… interesting, to say the least. His jump repertoire is very good, much wider than Yuuri’s. Yuuri hadn’t been able to beat him once during their days in Juniors. Following Christophe is Jean-Jacques Leroy, a fairly young Canadian skater the media is crazy about. Word on the grapevine is he’s got four quads planned in his free program to match Viktor.

“Japan’s Yuuri Katsuki, oh, you’re really going to have to watch out for this one,” Celestino winks at him, making him laugh a little. “Cao Bin, from China, and Michele Crispino, Italy.”

Yuuri exhales softly. Tough competition. Almost all of these names are among the best in their country. Soon, he’ll be competing against five of the best skaters in the Grand Prix series and his PCS will be his best weapon. Yuuri knows if he wants to even stand a chance against such fierce competition, he needs to give it all he’s got.He knows he’s going to have to work hard over the next few days.

(Yuuri conveniently forgets that he’s currently Japan’s top skater as well.)

~

 

“It’s been a while, Yuu-chan.”

The sight of Yuuko's face on his phone screen makes Yuuri beam and his heart ache with homesickness. It's been far too long since he's been in Hasetsu. They catch up for a bit and Yuuri turns bright red when Yuuko asks him about Viktor Nikiforov. He has to admit he wasn’t actually able to work up the courage to talk to Viktor at all in Beijing. He’d bolted back to his hotel room right after the interviews and screamed into a pillow for a solid five minutes before falling asleep, dreaming of the way Viktor smiled at him. Come to think of it, he hasn’t even replied to Viktor’s Instagram post yet.

Yuuri carefully balances his phone on the barrier, thinking about how ironic it is that _he_ ended up becoming the professional skater when he was sure it would be Yuuko, back when they were kids. He voices this to her, and she laughs before reminding him of the time he fainted when he won his first gold at the Japan Junior Championships.

Yuuri remembers watching Viktor Nikiforov skate for the first time when he was twelve and being absolutely enraptured. He remembers watching him at Junior Worlds in Bulgaria on the tiny, bulky television at Ice Castle and thinking that this sixteen-year-old legend was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, despite the grainy quality. He remembers watching him and wanting nothing more than to be able to move like he did on the ice.

The day he discovered Viktor Nikiforov was the day something changed in Yuuri, and he felt as if he’d found something he’d been looking for all his life.

He skates out to the middle of the rink, assuming the starting position of his gala program because it’s what he feels like skating right now. Even if he doesn’t place on the podium, the ISU has invited him to perform on the exhibition night anyway. It’s almost entirely free of jumps, having only two in total to really let his unique skating shine without the need for the technical aspect. He hasn’t got any music with him at the moment, he doesn’t need it, but he supposes Yuuko would’ve liked to hear it. It’s Yuuri’s favourite exhibition program he’s ever done, mostly because of the story behind it.

A few months ago, he’d dreamt with his soulmate and they’d skated the most amazing routine. It had been absolutely magical, but the best part was that Yuuri had remembered something substantial for once. It wasn’t his soulmate’s name or their appearance or anything, but he remembered the song they’d skated to. It had never happened before, so naturally he was incredibly excited.

Phichit helped him get in touch with a conservatory student he knew and Yuuri was able to describe the song to her in great detail. His limited piano skills from childhood had finally come in handy. When Ketty was finished with it, it sounded exactly like it did in Yuuri’s dream. He’d burst into tears when he clicked play because his heart had ached in his chest with longing for his soulmate so much that it physically hurt.

He’s been harbouring a little hope it’ll help him reach his soulmate. There’s no way his soulmate isn’t a skater themselves, or at the very least, a skating fan, so if they watch Yuuri’s gala skate, it theoretically might trigger a memory. He’s trying not to get his hopes up too much though, just in case his soulmate doesn’t see him skate, or in case they aren’t able to remember. Still, it’s hard not to be excited, not when he’s got such an important memory now.

His body flows into the final position with a sweep and he grins, panting slightly as sweat slides down his forehead. He skates back over to the barrier, where Yuuko’s delighted shouting and applause is threatening to break his phone speakers. The Grand Prix Final is two weeks from today. Yuuri hopes he’ll be able to reach out to his soulmate with this program. It’s the best, maybe the _only_ chance he’s got. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAAAAA I'm so sorry!!! Exam time is upon me and I completely forgot about last week's update D:  
> But!! Next up is my absolute favourite chapter and I'm super excited to post it!!! (and it's extra long owo)


	6. i know you (but how can i be sure?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A perplexing dream, more memories lost to empty space.

Viktor’s phone pings with a notification as he skates past it and he actually gasps out loud. As soon as he lands his quad flip (perfectly, as usual), he’s heading off to the rink side to check his phone. Yakov yells after him to stop slacking off but he tunes his coach out blithely. There are far more pressing matters at hand now, like the fact that phichit+chu has posted something.

He unlocks his phone and enters Instagram within seconds. After liking a photo of Chris’ cat, Viktor scrolls to a video of Katsuki and gets far more excited than he probably should.

* * *

 

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**phichit+chu** @katsukiyuu he’s been here since 5am and he won’t take a break omg  
  
#phichit #YuuriKatsuki #quadsquad #SochiGrandPrix #goyuurigo

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_ A FEW MINUTES AGO

* * *

 

The video loads and Viktor watches as Katsuki executes a nearly perfect quad Salchow, cheering triumphantly as he lands it. His grin vanishes abruptly when he notices the camera. “Phichit, stop filming! And don’t post that!” he exclaims. Phichit skates away, cackling, and the video ends. Viktor double taps and lets it loop for a few more times before Yuri comes over and bumps him none-too-gently with his shoulder.

“If you keep messing around like this, I’m gonna kick your ass when I get to the senior division, old man,” he grumbles.

“Whatever you say, _kotyonok_ ,” Viktor replies airily, and Yuri glares at the nickname. He peers down at Viktor’s phone screen with poorly veiled curiosity and clicks his tongue when he sees what Viktor’s looking at.

“What’s your deal with _him_? You’re like, obsessed. It’s creepy.”

Viktor gasps dramatically, pressing his hand to his chest in mock indignation. “I’m not obsessed, and it’s not _creepy_!”

He puts his phone back down on the barrier and skates back over towards Yakov, who looks like he’s going to have a fit. Yuri follows him for some reason. He’s oddly irritable today, even by Yuri standards.

“He’s not even that good anyway…” he mutters bitterly and Viktor has to clench his jaw slightly to bite back a retort. He doesn’t understand how people can still be so dismissive of Katsuki, even after his gold medal at the NHK Trophy. He’s seen a select few articles calling it pure luck. Can’t other people see the way he skates like Viktor does? Why can’t they understand like Viktor does?

“Come watch him at the Final,” he replies to Yuri, dropping his playful tone and skating past him briskly. “Then we’ll see what you think of him.”

Yuri, unused to such a cold dismissal from Viktor, stares after him for a moment before scowling and gliding to the other side of the rink. Yakov has a disapproving look on his face. Actually, he always looks like that. Maybe it would be better if he smiled more- wait, no, that would just be terrifying and disturbing.

“Vitya, you _cannot_ get complacent. You’ve been on your phone more than you’ve been skating,” he reproaches gruffly, frown deepening. “You know Katsuki’s PCS was higher than yours in the Cup of China, and from what I’ve heard, it was even higher at the NHK Trophy. If you aren’t careful, you can kiss goodbye to a gold medal in Sochi.”

“I know, I was just… checking out the competition,”

Yakov gives a derisive snort. “ _Checking out_ , indeed.”

Viktor’s about to give an indignant reply, but his coach claps his hands once sharply to cut him off. “Show me _Stammi Vicino_ again. I’m not happy with your jump combination after the quad Sal.”

This is a lie. Yakov had been perfectly satisfied with that jump combination just this afternoon. All the same, Viktor skates out to the middle of the rink with a breezy reply to his coach. The rest of the skaters fall into a hush and scatter to the edges of the rink, eager to see Viktor practice. The people who were about to leave stop in their tracks and suddenly decide they have time to stay for just a little longer. For some reason, Viktor’s rinkmates prefer to watch his free skate more than his short program. To be fair though, he likes _Stammi Vicino_ better as well.

He slows to a stop in the middle and places himself into his starting position, head bowed, eyes shut. The music swells from the speakers and Viktor raises his head, setting his face into a melancholy expression of longing. He brings a hand to his forehead and turns, clutching his hand to his chest in a gentle sweeping motion. There’s a collective sigh from the sides of the rink.

He always thinks of his soulmate when he skates _Stammi Vicino_ , but rather inexplicably, his mind wanders to Katsuki this time, and he immediately feels guilty. It throws him off so much that the landing on his quad Lutz is ever so slightly off. It doesn’t make a huge difference, but he knows Yakov would have noticed. He shakes it off and executes the next jump, his signature quad flip, much more cleanly. His impromptu audience cheers.

Viktor has never felt more conflicted in his life. His heart is split in two, being tugged at from different directions. One half aches for his soulmate and the other sings for Katsuki Yuuri and Viktor is so, so confused. He would’ve missed his next jump if it weren’t for muscle memory and the countless hours of practice he’s put in.

His traitorous imagination chimes in, _what if Katsuki is his soulmate?_

Viktor falters, badly, and nearly loses his balance on his camel spin. Yakov stops the music.

“Vitya,” his coach calls, and his voice is not quite as harsh as Viktor expected it to be. “You’re thinking too much.”

_Oh, you have no idea,_ he thinks.

“Clear your head. Try again.”

As he glides back into his starting position, he can hear the hushed murmurs around the rink. He doesn’t blame them. He hasn’t faltered this badly during a program in a while, even if it was only in practice. He thinks of the lyrics to the aria and tells himself firmly, _my soulmate, my soulmate, my wonderful soulmate._ His traitorous heart sings _Katsuki, Katsuki, stunning Katsuki Yuuri._ His traitorous imagination whispers _what if he’s my soulmate, what if it’s been him all along, what if he’s the one for me?_

Viktor caves. For one wild, ridiculous moment, he lets himself imagine that Katsuki is the one he’s been skating with in his dreams for all these years. The music starts again, he raises his head again, and everything _clicks_.

He knows immediately that this is what _Stammi Vicino_ has been lacking. All this time, he’d been skating to the idea of his soulmate, oh so wonderful and oh so far away. Now that he has someone real to picture, it all fits into place. Viktor skates his program like never before, a newfound flow in his limbs, his step sequence, his jumps, his spins, his everything. Flashes of images run through his head; Katsuki’s smile, Katsuki’s spins, Katsuki’s breathtaking musicality.

Before he knows it, he’s already setting up for his final quad toe-triple toe combination, and he lands it perfectly. Then it’s into the combination spin and the music distorts, curling around his rotating body as his spins once, twice, three times, four, too many to count, and then he stops, arms crossed and head tilted up to the ceiling. Viktor holds it for one second, two seconds, three seconds. The rink is silent as the last note fades away.

He collapses onto the ice, desperately trying to catch his breath. _Stammi Vicino_ is exhausting, both mentally and physically, and Viktor is drained. He wants to lie down and not get up for a long time. His rinkmates are applauding wildly, but the cheers barely register to him. Eventually, he gathers himself and skates over to Yakov on shaking legs. He gratefully accepts the water bottle offered to him and takes a long draught.

Yakov tells him that was by far the best one yet in terms of presentation, but his footwork was sloppy in places and his camel spin could’ve been faster and a bunch of other minor criticisms he tries to absorb, but they just leak right out of his brain. It occurs to him that he just skated the best run-through of his free skate while thinking of Katsuki, and the guilt suddenly hits him. A voice in the back of his mind murmurs sadly, _my soulmate, my soulmate, what about my wonderful soulmate?_

A lump forms in Viktor’s throat. _Stammi Vicino_ is about his soulmate, it’s for his soulmate, it always has been, so why…? Why did he skate it better while thinking of someone else?

“Vitya?” Yakov asks, stopping his lecture and frowning slightly. “Is something the matter?”

“I… don’t feel well,” Viktor says, and it’s not a lie. His chest aches with a terrible burning sensation and his head throbs dully. “I think I’ll go home and rest.”

“You’re sure? Perhaps you should-”

“I’ll be _fine,_ Yakov,” Viktor cuts in rather sharply, before softening regretfully. “…I’ll see you tomorrow morning. _Dobriy vecher._ ”

The evening greeting has somewhat of a finality to it, and his coach says nothing more. All of Viktor’s rinkmates eyes are on him, their gazes burning into his back. He wonders if they can sense the guilt radiating from him. Or perhaps they’re all staring because very rarely does Viktor Nikiforov ever walk with his shoulders hunched when he’s at the rink.

He slides his skate guards on before grabbing his phone and making his way over to a spot as far away from everyone else as possible. There’s a notification on his lock screen, another Instagram one telling him Phichit Chulanont has posted again. Against his better judgement, Viktor unlocks his phone to check it.

* * *

 

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**phichit+chu** rest is important everyone!! finally got him to go home and the first thing he does is take a nap lol  
  
#phichit #YuuriKatsuki #SochiGrandPrix #sleepingbeauty

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_ 17 MINUTES AGO

* * *

 

The post is innocuous enough, a selfie of the Thai skater wearing a mischievous grin. In the background however, Katsuki is asleep, looking utterly exhausted, and it’s so, _so_ unfair how anyone can look like _that_. Sleeping beauty indeed. Viktor tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and turns his phone off, watching the image quickly fade away to a black screen. A thought occurs to him, a thought that hasn’t crossed his mind before.

Viktor doesn’t know a thing about Katsuki’s soulmate.

In every video, every news article, every translated interview he could find on the internet, Viktor hasn’t seen a single word about Katsuki’s soulmate. He couldn’t even begin to guess what kind of soul bond he has. Does he even _have_ a soulmate? Perhaps he’s already met them, and they might even be in a relationship-

A tiny little crack forms across the surface of Viktor’s glass heart.

He tries to clear his head. These thoughts and questions are far too personal and if there’s nothing about Katsuki’s soulmate out in public, it’s obvious he wants to keep it a secret. Viktor is like that. He’d confirmed he had a soulmate in an interview years and years ago and he’d said nothing more, much to the media’s chagrin. They’ve learned to leave the subject alone because they know they won’t get an answer.

Viktor focuses on the dull burn in his muscles as he stretches to cool down and winces ever so slightly. He’s definitely not as flexible as he was in his teens. His body isn’t the same as it used to be, and he can’t keep on skating forever. Perhaps it’s time to start thinking about retiring.

The thought hurts, but he knows it’s inevitable. Figure skaters are only competitive for a short time, and Viktor’s starting to wonder if his is almost up. After all, no one seems to be surprised anymore. Every medal feels like one more ton added to the weight of the world upon his shoulders. Even his smiles feel more and more forced by the day.

Once, Viktor thought that the ice would be his one and only love for the rest of his life, but skating just isn’t how it used to be for him anymore.

He showers briefly and packs up his gear, too tired to think about anything. Yakov places a hand his shoulder as he walks past on the way out of the rink. He resists the urge to shrug it off.

“Shall we talk later?” he asks quietly.

“Maybe,” Viktor replies noncommittally. He doesn’t really want to.

“Take care of yourself, Vitya.”

“I will.”

With that, he takes his leave, and everyone watches him go because very rarely does Viktor Nikiforov ever leave the rink looking so utterly defeated.

He jogs slowly back to his apartment with the sounds of Saint Petersburg traffic filling his ears. The rumbling of cars and the cries of birds calm him as he runs, looking out over the Neva River as he crosses the Tuchkov Bridge. He remembers the hundreds, thousands of times he has travelled along this route, even as the city had changed around him over the years. Saint Petersburg is certainly not the same as it was when he was sixteen.

Then again, Viktor never actually spends enough time in Saint Petersburg these days to experience all the new things. He’s always being surprised at a new store or something that wasn’t there before he left Russia on a plane to some competition. He figures that’s what happens when you’re bouncing from country to country all the time. Perhaps it _is_ time to start thinking about retirement.

He arrives home and Makkachin bowls him over immediately. Viktor is met with wet tongue and dog breath and he laughs as his poodle barks excitedly. Makkachin eventually calms down enough to allow Viktor to sit back up. For a while, he just sits there with his back resting against the door. His beloved dog stretches out across his legs as he stares blankly at a spot on the opposite wall, petting Makkachin’s fur absentmindedly. He doesn’t know exactly how much time passes before he starts nodding off, but he’s exhausted and his poodle’s weight is warm and comforting in his lap.

“I’m so tired, Makka,” Viktor sighs wearily as he struggles to keep his drooping eyelids open. He stifles a yawn with the back of his hand, his eyes watering slightly. Makkachin raises his head and gives him a gentle lick on the cheek for consolation. He smiles and lets out a soft chuckle before his eyes slide shut and he drifts off. Later, he’ll think about how silly it is that he wasn’t even able to make it to his bedroom before falling asleep at the door.

In his dream, Viktor walks along a road that seems to stretch on until the end of time. He walks for what feels like hours, or maybe minutes, perhaps even seconds, yet the sun remains in the same place in the sky. He passes landmarks a thousand times over and over; the same houses, the same street signs, the same lightning bolt-shaped crack in the sidewalk. He turns around and walks the other way, but he passes the same houses, the same street signs, the same cat sitting on a wall.

He feels so lost and trapped and he doesn’t know what to do. He breaks into a run, going as fast as he can as the surroundings blur into one giant mass of colours. He passes the same house with the white picket fence and the perfectly trimmed lawn, the same signs reading generic neighbourhood street names, the same _everything_ and it’s driving him insane. Viktor runs until he can’t run anymore and he collapses, kneeling in the middle of the road and trying to catch his breath. The tabby cat sits on the wall ever so stoically, as if it were made of stone, but the movements of its eyes indicate otherwise.

“What do you want from me?!” he cries at it, delusional with desperation. The tabby cat blinks slowly at him. He remembers reading somewhere that if a cat blinks at you slowly, it’s a sign they like you, but Viktor has never cared. He’s always been more of a dog person anyway. He blinks too, and the cat is gone, a striped tail disappearing past the wall.

The air explodes into sound all around him.

_“-Russia’s Viktor Nikiforov claims his first Junior Grand Prix gold at such a young age-”_

_“-and would you believe it, sixteen-year-old Viktor Nikiforov has just made figure skating history, winning gold here in Bulgaria with the highest score-”_

_“-he’s done it! Nikiforov has gone above and beyond all our expectations and smashed the world record for the highest free program-”_

_“-this is Nikiforov’s third consecutive gold at the senior Grand Prix, a remarkable feat only achieved twice before-”_

_“-another gold at Europeans, no surprise there-”_

_“-he is undoubtedly the most iconic skater of today-”_

_“-there’s never been anyone like him before-”_

_“-Viktor Nikiforov, Russia’s living legend-”_

“Stop, stop, _stop_!” Viktor shouts, but his voice is lost in the sea of commentary from past years. He claps his hands over his ears and begs for it to _stop, please, please, no more, his head is going to explode,_ _his heart is going to burst_ -

“Viktor,” says a quiet, gentle voice that seems so much louder than everything else. The clamouring voices immediately cease. Tentatively, Viktor brings his hands away from his ears and looks up. His heart stops and leaps into his throat. Katsuki is there, standing in front of him with an outstretched hand and a soft smile on his face. Viktor notices his entire body is trembling as he takes Katsuki’s hand and lets him help him to his feet.

_Why are you here?_ Viktor wants to ask, but his voice fails him, and he remains silent. Katsuki’s smile only grows. He has not let go of Viktor’s hand yet.

“Come with me,” he says brightly, and suddenly Viktor is being dragged along by the hand. The sound of their footsteps echo in this empty, endless neighbourhood and he’s sure now they’re both stuck here. Katsuki turns and takes him down a path between two houses that had definitely not been there before. He’s running now, laughing lightly as he pulls Viktor along.

The sunlight filters through the trees and falls on the place where their hands are connected. They emerge into direct sunlight once more, and Viktor’s heart sinks when he sees that the path only led to another road with rows of perfect houses and generic street signs. They’re stuck again, is this ever going to end? Katsuki doesn’t seem fazed, only tugging at his hand gently.

“Come on, Viktor,” he says. “I want to show you something.”

Within two seconds, they’re off again. The surroundings morph around them as they run. The houses change, Viktor isn’t exactly sure how, but they seem to be different. The street signs change too, transforming into ones with writing he can’t read. Viktor spots some kind of tall building in the distance, and it seems to be where Katsuki is taking him. They climb up a set of stairs and he reads the words ‘ICE CASTLE’ along the side of the building. The other writing is in another language, Japanese he thinks, but he isn’t sure.

They get to the automatic doors and Katsuki stops, gazing through the glass with a wistful look in his eyes. Viktor can see shelves of rental skates. When the other man makes no move to enter, Viktor looks at him in confusion. 

“Is… something wrong?” he asks hesitantly. Katsuki smiles at him again, a sweet, closed-eye smile, and vanishes.

To be completely honest, Viktor isn’t surprised. Of course this would happen.

Sighing, he steps foot into the building and a strange feeling sweeps over him. His mind goes blank like condensation wiped off a glass and he feels calm all of a sudden. He looks behind him as the automatic doors slide shut. He wonders who brought him here. He’s sure that someone took his hand and brought him to this place, this ice rink he’s never seen before.

Soft music fills the air, piano notes drifting to Viktor from the ice. He follows it without even having to think. His soulmate is here.

There he is on the ice, gliding and twirling like a faerie in a forest. The music is light and whimsical, reminiscent of a music box with its tinkling quality. Suddenly there are skates on Viktor’s feet and he takes off the guards before stepping onto the ice, marvelling at how detailed his dreams are. Sometimes he forgets he’s even asleep.

When he meets his soulmate in the middle, string instruments ring out to accompany the piano, elegant notes swirling in the air around them. His soulmate smiles at him, a vaguely familiar smile. Viktor wonders if he’ll ever be able to remember the way this beautiful dark-haired man looks at him.

“Viktor,” he says in a way of greeting.

“Yuuri,” his soulmate replies, and everything slowly slides into place once more. Yuuri takes him by the hands and pulls him along gently. The graceful, drawn-out violin notes sweep through the rink and lift their spirits as Yuuri leads him into a waltz. His hands are warm and they fit so perfectly in Viktor’s.

The piano’s melody descends in a waterfall of chiming notes and Viktor twirls Yuuri around, taking the lead. A cello resounds in the air now, its low tones echoing in their veins. The violin returns with soaring notes and the plucking of a double bass. All the string instruments blend in a wonderful harmony as they continue to dance a lovely step sequence.

Suddenly, the music draws to a close and their routine ends on a somewhat half-finished note. They stop, posed as if someone had pressed pause on a video. Yuuri has a thoughtful expression on his face.

“It seems unfinished, doesn’t it?” Viktor remarks, watching his soulmate nod in agreement.

“I think,” Yuuri begins softly, as if he’s suddenly shy. “That song… was meant to represent… us?”

Viktor processes this thought in his head, bringing a finger to his lips in a pensive gesture, a habit he’d formed years ago. He replays the music in his head, recalling the delicate sounds of the piano and the string instruments.

“How so?” he inquires, trying to put the pieces together in his mind. Yuuri scratches his cheek with a finger and Viktor finds it ever so endearing.

“Um, you know the beginning? It sounds like a…”

“A music box?”

“Ah, that’s it. Yeah, it represents the first time we dreamed together as kids, or… at least I think so.”

They start skating again, more absentmindedly than anything, and quiet music fills the air once more, a jaunty waltz with a piano and violin. Viktor smiles fondly. It’s so fitting how they make music when they skate.

Yuuri continues telling him his theory, getting more and more expressive as he goes on. Viktor listens intently, fascinated by Yuuri’s thought processes. They make perfect sense, and it’s actually quite a good analysis. It makes him itch with the desire to keep skating, to hear the rest of the song.

“-and then it ends with that incomplete feeling because…” Yuuri pauses suddenly, staring at his skates and blushing. Viktor opens his mouth to prompt him, but Yuuri continues on without it.

“Because… our story is incomplete too.”

“I hope we’ll get to finish it one day, and perhaps the rest of the song will come with it,” Viktor says softly, his tone drenched in longing.

“I hope so too, Viktor,” Yuuri replies, and Viktor’s heart flutters when he says his name.

“Should we give a name to the song? It only seems right.”

Yuuri hums in agreement. They spend a good few minutes swapping possible titles back and forth, but nothing seems to fit. Viktor tells him funny stories, and the bright smiles he gets in return remind him of someone, but he just can’t think of who it could be. He searches his brain and comes up with the briefest flash of a figure in a rink. He tries to snatch the memory back, but it darts away. An unexpected wave of guilt washes over him and makes his stomach twist uncomfortably.

When they eventually grow tired of their aimless skating, they discard their skates and Yuuri takes him outside. He moves around with such familiarity that Viktor has to wonder if this place is real. They sit on a nearby bench, holding hands and basking in the warmth of the sunlight.

“Do you know this place, Yuuri?” Viktor asks when the curiosity becomes too much to hold back. Yuuri beams at him.

“Do I? It’s my hometown!” he says proudly, his smile growing even wider. 

Viktor lets out a quiet ‘oh’ of surprise. “Will you tell me more?”

So Viktor learns that they are in Hasetsu, a quiet port town in the Kyushu region of Japan, the place where Yuuri was born and raised. He gets rather excited when Yuuri tells him about Hasetsu Castle, which supposedly has a ninja house inside. The rink they are at is his home rink, the one where he’d learned to skate. He imagines tiny five-year-old Yuuri on skates for the first time and his heart melts, but his stomach twists again with that strange, guilty feeling.

“So you live here?” Viktor asks, and though it’s a fairly obvious question, he just wants to listen to Yuuri talk more. To his surprise, Yuuri shakes his head.

“Not right now, actually,” he answers. “When I was eighteen, I moved to Detroit to attend a training facility and work with a new coach there. I do miss Hasetsu a lot. It’s not the same, you know?”

Viktor nods. He knows all too well. ‘Home’ is a term that becomes increasingly blurred when you’re an internationally renowned figure skater. ‘Home’ becomes less and less his apartment in Saint Petersburg and more hotel rooms in foreign countries.

All of a sudden, Yuuri perks up, his eyes shining. “You’ve noticed that our dreams are oddly detailed, haven’t you, Viktor? I was wondering how much of Hasetsu is here…”

Viktor gives him a playful grin. “Perhaps you could show me around?” he jokes. He becomes aware that he and Yuuri have slowly shifted towards each other when their knees bump. Viktor blushes a bit. His stomach twists a bit.

_Why, why, why? Why am I feeling this way?_

Yuuri grins back as he stands up and, oh, they’re still holding hands. “Then let’s go!”

So Viktor finds himself being taken around Hasetsu, a quiet town by the sea in Kyushu’s Saga Prefecture, his soulmate’s hometown. Yuuri takes him to his home first, a place called ‘Yu-Topia Katsuki’ which he learns is a hot spring resort. They walk all around Hasetsu for what seems like hours, and it feels so real that Viktor forgets they’re dreaming. It’s somewhat surreal to be able to visit a place in a dream. Of course, he has no reference point as to how accurate the dream is, as he’s never been to Hasetsu, but judging by Yuuri’s reactions, it’s accurate enough.

There are no people in the town, which is a little disconcerting. They soon forget it as they walk hand in hand in the place where Yuuri grew up. They pass a block of flats and Yuuri points up to where someone has put tape on the windows, spelling words Viktor can’t read. Yuuri smiles fondly and tells him it’s a ballet studio owned by a close family friend. He’d spent most of his childhood there, dancing until his feet ached.

Eventually, they end up on a beach, sitting on the sand and watching the tide roll in. The sun is just beginning to set, dyeing the sky a light orange that reflects onto the ocean. Seagulls fly past in a V-formation, their cries resounding through the air. The two of them watch the birds soar over their heads in fond reminiscence.

“ _Kamome_ ,” Yuuri smiles at the same time as Viktor murmurs, “They remind me of Saint Petersburg.”

 He looks at Yuuri with a puzzled expression. Yuuri scratches at his cheek again.

“Seagulls. We call them _kamome_ in Japanese…”

“We say _chayka_ in Russian,” Viktor tells him, nodding in understanding. He brightens suddenly as he repeats the word in his head and something clicks. “It’s perfect!”

Yuuri cocks his head to the side. “Perfect for what?”

“Our song. Let’s call it _Kamome,_ ” Viktor says, taking Yuuri’s hand in his once more. It’s a short word, but he probably butchered the pronunciation. Yuuri laughs lightly.

“You want to call it _Seagull_? he remarks, eyes sparkling with amusement. Viktor’s heart grows fond at the sight.

“Well… when you’re in another place and you hear seagulls, do you think of Hasetsu?” Viktor asks as he laces their fingers together, and Yuuri nods. “I think of Saint Petersburg. And if seagulls remind us of home, I think it’s a perfect title for our song. It’s a beautiful word. _Kamome._ ”

The word is unfamiliar on Viktor’s tongue, so unused to Japanese. Yuuri laughs lightly and corrects him until he says it perfectly. In return, he teaches him how to say it in Russian. The sun begins to set and Yuuri leans his head on his shoulder. Words resound in his head, _kamome, chayka, seagulls, home, Yuuri,_ and he smiles gently.

“Tell me about Saint Petersburg,” Yuuri requests in a soft murmur, and Viktor does. He talks and he talks, watching the sun sinks further and further. He loves telling Yuuri about the Potseluyev Bridge in particular, because of how he blushes when he tells him that it means the Bridge of Kisses, and that he’d like to take Yuuri there someday. The red-orange of the sky shimmers on the water as the sun meets the ocean and he slows to a stop.

“Saint Petersburg sounds wonderful,” Yuuri whispers, sounding tired. Viktor wonders what happens if you fall asleep in a dream. Would you dream inside of the current dream? And what if you fall asleep in _that_ dream too? He puts his left arm around Yuuri’s shoulder and holds him close, laughing mentally at himself.

“Maybe I’ll show you around sometime, like you did with me today,” Viktor murmurs and he can sense Yuuri’s smile.

“I’d like that.”

The ocean begins to swallow up the sun and the sky darkens above their heads. The oddly guilty feeling in Viktor’s stomach, momentarily forgotten, resurfaces. He looks down at Yuuri’s head on his shoulder, then out to the sunset again.

“Yuuri…”

“Mm?”

Viktor swallows nervously and he understands the feeling now. He thinks of skating with Yuuri at Ice Castle and Yuuri showing him where he grew up and he feels terrible. The twisting in his stomach begins to swallow him up like it’s the ocean and he is the sun sinking into its depths. The words come to him surprisingly easily, considering what he is about to confess.

“Would you be upset with me if I said I was developing feelings for someone?”

There is a long pause and Viktor’s heart clenches.

“…Who?” Yuuri asks finally. Viktor opens his mouth to answer, a name on his lips, but it vanishes suddenly. He frowns.

“I can’t remember…”

Yuuri sighs and Viktor’s heart clenches.

“Viktor, do you love me?” Yuuri asks, lifting his head to look at him. His expression is unreadable. Viktor blinks, taken aback. He thinks about it carefully before answering.

“I’d like to say that I do,” he begins gently. Yuuri’s gaze drops from his face and his heart clenches. “But I think I’m only in love with the _idea_ of you.”

“All these years, I’ve never been able to remember you properly,” Viktor continues hastily. “Maybe a vague thing or two about your appearance, but never anything substantial, like your personality, your character. I fall in love with you all the time in our dreams. I’ve fallen in love with you in this dream too. But I wake up and I forget and…”

Viktor leaves the sentence unfinished because it doesn’t need explanation. They both know what it’s like.

“What I’m trying to say is…” he starts, struggling to find the words that had been coming to him so easily before. “I can’t love you properly, because I can’t remember you properly, and I wish _so much_ that I could, because you really are wonderful, _dorogoy_.”

“You called me that before,” Yuuri says, meeting his eyes once more. “I remember. What does it mean?”

“Darling.”

Yuuri swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Viktor doesn’t know who leans in first or when, but suddenly they’re kissing as the sun disappears past the horizon and brings the remains of daytime with it. They sit there unmoving, lips pressing against each other in a kiss that makes Viktor feel too many things all at once. They only break apart when the need for oxygen prickles at their lungs and they grow lightheaded.

“Yuuri,” Viktor whispers hoarsely. His lips tingle.

“Viktor,” Yuuri breathes, letting his eyelids flutter shut again. “I don’t want to forget.”

“Neither do I,” Viktor replies, holding him tightly. “I don’t ever want to forget again. I want to remember you, and fall in love with you for real, and be with you like this for real, and…”

He’s waking up. He can feel it, his consciousness tugging at him. He fights it, _no, I don’t want to go, let me stay here forever with him!_

“Yuuri,” he says once more, voice cracking. The world begins to fall away around them as Hasetsu disassembles itself into nothing. Seagulls fly past one more time and disappear as the sky shatters. Jagged pieces of navy blue and lingering orange tumble into the ocean. Yuuri slowly fades from existence, but his arms tighten around Viktor and his heart aches. Then, he’s gone, and so is Hasetsu.

In the void which Viktor hangs in for a brief moment, he thinks he hears his name, but maybe it’s just an echo. He rockets upwards towards the surface, towards consciousness, and he hears it again, clearly.

“Viktor!”

His eyes snap open and he is alone in his apartment. Makkachin is still asleep, draped across his lap. There’s a pain in his lower back that aches something terrible from sleeping in such a position. Careful not to jostle his poodle, Viktor extracts his phone from his pocket and checks the time. It’s nearly eleven and he’s missed dinner. Gently lifting Makkachin up, he stands and stretches, wincing as his joints pop.

“ _Kamome_ ,” he whispers to himself, the word seeming so much louder in his empty apartment. He remembers the sweet press of lips against his and tears spill down his face because nothing else comes back to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There it is!! My favourite chapter (and it's angst lol)! I've been so excited to post this since the beginning omg I'm still so proud of it, even a year later. Also I love Kamome?? I love the entire YOI soundtrack in general?? ugh it's just so good  
> Next time... the GPF!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading ♡  
> [My Tumblr](https://enchanted-hourglass.tumblr.com/)


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